All Is Dust
by Nate88
Summary: A young Draco flees England after his parents are murdered by followers of Voldemort. Years later, with the wizarding world on the edge of war, Draco returns for revenge, but will he discover there is more to life than vengeance?
1. Chapter 1

All Is Dust

Harry Potter belongs to a rather nice and very rich Scottish lady, since I am none of those things the smart money is on me not owning this intellectual property.

Also this is my first attempt at fiction so please review and give me feedback

Prolog

I hate opera. There is no other more polite way of putting it . My father could compliment the entire performance while at the same time making it clear that two hours of his time had just been wasted, and that that time's value was worth more than the accumulation of every heartbeat that the entirety of the cast had left in their chests. I don't have that talent. So instead I tug at my mother's arm and whisper into her ear as she leans close, "Mother must we really listen to this garbage? Those people are hardly worth our attention."

My mother glances down through her pale blonde hair and smiles indulgently at me. "Sweetheart we aren't here to listen to the performance. We are here to be seen to be listening to the performance. Your father is a very important man and very important men must be seen doing things that very important men are supposed to be seen doing." I glance back up at her sourly, fold my arms across my chest , and look back at the lady on stage "And listening to whales dressed like Vikings is something that important men do?" I mumble back under my breath.

My sulk is interrupted by my father nudging my leg with his cane. "Silence Draco! The intermission will begin shortly and then we may leave, until that time contain yourself and behave like the pureblood scion that you are!"

I lean back in my seat and feel my mouth twist in distaste. I finger the wand I had just received the day before through my robes. I know my father hates these things as much as I do, The only reason that he comes to these charity functions is to, in his own words, " Show to those that matter that I have enough influence to be invited, and to those that don't that I care enough about whatever inane cause is being supported to attend." He usually spends the next thirty minutes to an hour talking about how the only cause that is truly worthy is our own.

Bored, I glance around the top box where we are sitting; there is the Minister sitting three to my left. Behind him is Daphnie Greengrass sitting with her mother an enraptured look on her pretty face. Note to self, when it's time to make out the marriage contracts for me in a few year either refuse to be betrothed to her, or demand a clause in the contract to exempt me from going to these bloody things. Speaking of nut jobs that enjoy this trash Crouch is sitting far down on his row with a house elf of all things perched between him and the last seat, which is empty. According to father the only reason he ever comes is because his dead wife and son enjoyed the opera so much. Hu, I thought that self-flagellation as a sign of mourning went out of fashion ages ago. Oh well father always did say he was a bit of a freak.

After what feels like an eternity finally the nightmare is over and my family begins to file out of our seats. My parents and I politely make our way past a frantic looking Mr. Crouch and his crying house elf and begin to run, as my father calls it, the social gauntlet.

Eventually after the tithe of the palm pressing and hand kissing that social decorum demands had been paid, we at last emerged out of the opera house on the corner of Diagon ally and began to make our way to Borgin & Burkes in order to check on a purchase that my father made a few days ago for the "special" trophy room under our living room. I walk along through the light rain, my right hand held lightly in my mother's white gloved hand and my left in my father's strong grip. Suddenly I hear a horse whisper behind me , "So this is what the traitor does while our master's faithful rot in a daemon infested pit."

I have never in my entire, though admittedly, short life seen my father move so fasts. My hand is dropped as he whirls to the side and begins to unsheathe his wand to face the black cloaked figure that has appeared behind us, but before he can bring his weapon to bear a scarlet hex leaves the stranger's wand and impacted on his father's chest, hurling him backwards and into the ally wall. My eyes are locked on his unmoving form. The shock flowing through my body is overwhelming. My father is the greatest wizard ever! He is my idol! He is all I have ever wanted to be! And there he lays in a crumpled heap on the ground, rain falls softly on his upturned face and drips into his sightless eyes. Slowly swirls of crimson begins to appear in the pool in which he lay. Through the shock and numbness I feel my mother pull me behind her, using herself to shield me from the dark cloaked madman that had just taken away her husband. "Please! Who are you? What do you want? If it's money I can give you as much as you like, but please let my son go! " Slowly the man drew back his hood to reveal a crazed sunken eyes set in a sickly white face. "Barty? Whispers my mother in shock as she slowly backs away.

"I don't care about money Narcissa. All I care about is the Dark Lord. That's all I have ever cared about. There has never been ANYTHING more important to me than the Dark Lord sweet Narcissa and that is why we find ourselves at this crossroads now. You see when the Dark Lord vanished I when looking for him! I did all in my power to find him! And what did your husband do? He denied him! He claimed to be bewitched! He pissed on our cause and our Lord just so he could keep his miserable hide out of Azkaban! Well you reap what you sow Mrs. Malfoy. You and your husband sowed treason and now the whirlwind is here to claim it's due."

"We did what we had to survive!" I finally glance up from the unmoving body of my father and up at my mother's face. I see tears streaming from her crystal blue eyes and mingling with the flecks of rain on her cheeks. My world is shattered. My father lies dead at the hands of this straw haired lunatic, the same one that now holds my mother at wand point.

"Do you have any last words Mrs. Malfoy? Perhaps some words of comfort to give to your son before I take you from him, hmm? Maybe something about good old English stoicism and keeping a stiff upper lip? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the frantic screaming, and the pathetic denials of guilt are all very nice, but time is growing short and you may want to leave your soon to be orphaned son with some last words of actual substance."

After a few seconds of silence my mother slowly turns around and leans down to my eleven year old height so we are at eye level. "Draco, I want you to know that your father and I love you dearly. Everything that we have ever done we did for you. We both couldn't be more proud of you sweetheart." She gives me a shaky smile and leans in to kiss me on my forehead. "Be strong Draco." I hear clapping coming from behind my mother's back.

"Very touching Narcissa. I, more than anyone, can appreciate the gentle love of a mother for her son, but this really must come to an end." The man smiles almost in a sad way back at us. "I really wish that I didn't have to do this Narcissa, but examples must be made or the others who abandoned the Dark Lord will think that there is no penalty for betrayal." The dark cloaked figure slowly begins to walk towards us wand outstretched. "I will however make you a promise, the boy will be well taken care of by Bella when I return our master to power and he liberates his faithful from that pit." Suddenly I see I glint of panic in her eyes "No, please!" she whispers to him as he approaches.

When I was little I always dreamed of what I could do when I got a wand. I imagined that I would go off and have adventures like the ones I saw on the cover of Adventures of Harry Potter children's books, the ones I would always see in the stores but my parents would never get me. I dreamed that he and I could have adventures together, that we could save maidens from dragons, find ancient treasures in the depths of the great pyramids and most importantly build the world that my father always talked about, where the great ruled and the lesser knew their place, something I never truly understood the meaning of, but my father always spoke of it so It must be right. All of those fantasies paled in comparison to the simple all-consuming desire to be able to do something, ANYTHING, to save my mother. But it is no good. I got my wand yesterday. I may as well be a holding a regular stick for all of the good it would do her.

"Goodbye Mrs. Malfoy, I truly am sorry about this." And with that a bold of emerald energy burst from the tip of his wand and connected with my mother's back. I am looking into her eyes as the light leaves them. It seems like everything is in slow motion as she collapses to the ground, her angelic face famed by a pale halo of hair as it lays there, still and unmoving. The man is saying something to me but I can't hear him. All I can hear is a dull roaring in my ears. All I can feel is sorrow and numbness that seems to occupy every bit of space in my body. Slowly I look up at the face of my parents' killer. I feel the deep sadness being crushed and transformed under its own weight. Feel the sorrow compress in on itself and solidify into a new emotion. Hate. Hate so strong it feels like my veins have turn to ice and my bones to fire. I see the man lift his wand and a spell leap from its tip, forming a new grotesque constellation of emerald stars. I hear a shout come from behind the man and he takes off past me into the darkest parts of Knockturn ally with his pursuers, another man in a dark cloak and what looks like an elf or goblin running behind him.

I don't care. I look back down at my mother's still form and fall to my knees beside her. Ice crystals are slowly spreading from my feet in a ring, but again I don't care. I take my hand and gently brush away a stray strand of hair from her face, cradle her head in my hands, then throw back my head and scream with all of the pain and rage of my soul, the only witnesses as my cry echoes through the empty ally are the stars above and the cruel visage of a snake tonged skull.

AN: There will be a time skip to the end of fourth year next chapter, then one more set up chapter after that and another time skip and then the story starts in earnest. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the coma splices.

All Is Dust

Chapter 1 A problem of sauerkraut

I feel the murderer's fear as he runs. It's as if there is a cord connecting him to me that I can follow back to his panicked soul, the draw of it is irresistible. I slowly lay my mother back upon the ground; her body slowly becoming covered in icicles and frost, making her look like the personification of winter at its most beautiful. I don't stop to wonder how I could feel another beings emotions, I don't pause to consider the fact that the area around me looks like the deepest of winter even though it's late July. All I can feel is the frozen wrath inside my veins, and the location of the being that my hate desires to destroy.

I begin to run.

The streets and side alleys zip by at a speed that should have been impossible and the water on the ground and the sides of the building freezes as I pass. I hear the tinkle of frozen drops of rain behind me as they shatter upon the cobblestoned streets.

My quarry is in sight now. I see him take a side street and follow behind in his wake uncaring about the danger of chasing a man who just killed two fully trained adult wizards. I can feel him stop behind the corner of the street, sensing that vengeance is near I round the corner with a snarl.

I have no time to react as the crimson light of a stunner bursts out of another side street and impacts my back.

I awaken in a freezing sweat, literally. I take deep breaths in and out trying to calm down before I destroy another bedroom's worth of furniture.

Even almost four years after that night I still have dreams about it. Slowly I bring my emotions under control and climb out of bed, then pad over to the bedroom door and open it.

I smell Sauerkraut.

I hate sauerkraut. I loathe it with the passion of a thousand burning suns and am as welcoming of its aroma as I would be of a cigarette in the eye. "Damn it Dobby! Is that sauerkraut I smell?"

"Yes kind master! Dobby is being very fond of sauerkraut! It is reminding him of the taste of dirty socks master!"

"Wait, that's a bonus for you?" I groan standing in the doorway.

"Why yes young master Malfoy! It reminds me of when my mother Dinky would-.."

"Oookk thanks Dobby, that's more than enough information. I don't need to know about how you drew a link from sauerkraut to dirty socks and then to your mom." Hmm… there is a joke in there somewhere, but I'm just too tired to go for it. Almost unwillingly a smile comes back to my face; Dobby can always do or say something to get my mind off things best not thought of.

I walk across the rugs that are layered over the cold stone floor of my refuge, past the mantel where pictures of my mother and father stand smiling at me, and sit down across from my house elf. "What's for breakfast?" I grumble.

Dobby snaps his fingers and before me appears a plate of fruit, granola and a single boiled egg. Uhh ever since we went through France and he was lectured by the French elves about the importance of a "light and healthy breakfast for the masters" there hasn't been a sausage or strip of bacon in sight. If I ever find those damn elves I'll bury them in a mountain of dirty laundry. "Would it be too much to ask for some bloody meat? I feel like I'm turning into a rabbit." The cursed midget doesn't even bother glancing up from his heaping plate of spoiled cabbage.

Mine and Dobby's relationship really is a strange one. It started out as any regular house elf young master relationship begins, namely me doing everything in my power, and at my father's encouragement, to make his life a living hell. I believe my father's rationalization was that it helped young boys "build character." After my parents' death and the… change that I went through, it became harder and harder to be around regular wizards, and they seemed to be able to tolerate me even less. The only one who could withstand my rages was Dobby. The only one that stuck with me through it all was Dobby, and the only one who doesn't run away in terror when my temper all too often gets away from me is Dobby. When my parents were killed my very life was shaken to its foundation, and when the quakes subsided the only thing left was Dobby. He came with me when I moved in with my Aunt Andromeda and Uncle Ted, but that arrangement didn't last long.

I know now that Aunt Andromeda and her husband tried to be loving and show that they cared but I was in too much emotional pain and going through to many changes to care. Nymphadora was very understanding as well, at least after she beat my arse for calling her a dirty half-blood anyways. After that we got on rather swimmingly. As a matter of fact she is the only member of my family that I still write to regularly. Admittedly my family tree is a bit sparse at the moment, so I'm not exactly floating on options for familiar correspondence.

I grab an orange wedge and pick up the morning paper Dobby filched for me from somewhere. It's written in German of course, but I guess that's to be expected when you are in the country. Because of the old German and Austrian empires, when you're most anywhere between the Rhine and Russia knowing German will get you whatever you need in the wizarding community. It's the same reason why the official language of Durmstrang is German. All of the countries that it recruits from were once part of one or another of those empires. Luckily I got a year or so in with a German tutor before my mother realized the reason I wanted to learn was to go to Durmstrang. She then politely asked the old gentleman to leave and not to let her banisher hit him on the way out.

I flip open the front page and gaze in shock at the headline.

HARRY POTTER, THE TRIWIZARD CHAMPION, VANISHES! FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED!

Quickly I read through the headlining story. Apparently The-boy-who-lived went missing during the third task. No trace of where he disappeared to, just him gone and the trophy missing. The only lead that they had so far was that the defense instructor, Mad-eye Moody, had gone missing at the same time. Looking at the photo of him underneath the one of Potter I had to agree with them. Just with the name and the picture as evidence I'd convict him on the spot. The man looks thirteen different kinds of creepy and sounds another ten kinds of suspicious.

I back up from the table to prepare for the inevitable explosion. Wand? Check. A pair of boxers to hurl as a weapon of last resort? Check, Technically I'm still wearing them but they can be off me fast enough to fling like a linen grenade if I have to. Ok I'm ready.

I look over at Dobby happily munching on his breakfast and toss him the paper, "Hey! Dobby! When you get a chance read the front page." The elf takes a few more bites of his blasted kraut before picking up the paper and beginning to read.

Five, four, three, two, and… "GREAT WIZARD HARRY POTTER HAS BEEN TAKEN BY DIRTY NASTY EVIL WIZARDS!" Dobby howls before snatching his machete from next to his chair and begins punishing the paper and the table it's sitting on for being the bearer of bad news, and the bearer of the bearer of bad news respectively. I cast a protago and begin retreating under a steady shower of shredded kraut and woodchips. I simply wait and let the elf's wrath take its course. Why am I letting him mulch the dining room table? Because he has to put up with me on occasion when I lose my temper, and when mine gets away from me I leave a lot more in ruins than a simple piece of furnature. I guess the biggest question is why my elf has a machete in the first place, although for a guy his size it may be more appropriate to call it a claymore…. Anyways that question is a bit harder to answer. He picked it up during a fight at a bazar in eastern Serbia about three years ago. A werewolf was trying to bite me and he cut the thing's head off. He has been in love ever since. Picking it up was like a religious experience for him. I guess it's like when muggel women burn their bra; apparently when they do, it awakes something in them that makes them want to stop shaving their legs and start wear hiking boot, that's what a wizarding acquaintance of mine claims anyway. A similar thing happened with Dobby when he picked up "Chopsy," but instead of feeling liberated he just wants to kill things.

Hmm… He just threatened to cut off their feet so that they can never wear socks again. He must be more pissed than I thought. Dobby holds the wearing of socks as some sort of mystical forbidden fruit that to partake of would mean being cast out of his master's presence forever, but I'm pretty sure he still wants to take a proverbial bite out of one of those metaphorical wooly apples… Now that I think about it that gives a new level of meaning to his thinking that kraut tastes like socks… Maybe I should check on him while he's doing my laundry? Some of my socks have going missing lately… It's best not to think of that right now though since it looks like he is starting to come out of it.

"So I take it that you don't approve?" I inquire mildly, as I glance at the elf standing in front of me who's covered in wood shavings, cabbage, and more than a little spittle. I think that's a little of my poor boiled egg hanging from his ear.

"Master! We must be going and finding great wizard Harry Potter Sir! We must be saving him we must!"

"I'd love to Dobby, I really would, but where would we look for him? If the aurors have no idea where he is then I am fairly certain that if we scoured the face of England we wouldn't do either him or us any good. We do however have an appointment with a client in Berlin scheduled for forty minutes from now. So why don't you clean yourself up and change your pillow case and hand towel/kilt thingy so we can make a good impression? That's a good elf."

As Dobby begins cleaning up the mess and changing I walk over to my dresser and begin to get ready for the day as well. Off go my pajama bottoms and in their place I pull on dark green muggle military trousers. You'd be amazed at how convenient having all of those pockets can be when you have space enhancement charms added on them. Next I strap my spare wand to my leg, pull on my boots, and throw on a shirt and jumper to stave off the cold of an early northern German spring. I finish by sticking my wand in my mouth and muttering a teeth cleaning charm. I'm not as sure about the wizard supremacy as I once was, but there is one thing that English wizards defiantly have over our muggle cousins. We have damn fine teeth.

I glance up at the family motto carved into the stone above the mirror. Sanguinem Ante Omnes, Blood Before All. Once upon a time I knew exactly what that meant to me. Now? It seems like it has more layers than a bag of onions.

I strap my wand to my forearm as I walk over to and then up the stairs to the trap door exit above. Pushing open the heavy wooden door I squint into the bright morning light. The sight before me is a quiet little road a few miles to the east of Berlin.

Why am I in Germany? After a while of living with the Tonks It became pretty obvious that Hogwarts was not the place for me, more for the other children's protection than for any fear that I wouldn't fit in. So I ran. I got Ted to bring me by the Manor to "pick up some things for school." When I got there I grabbed the family's old traveling trunk, a pretty cool piece of magic that basically looks like a regular trunk, except for the fact that there is an expansion charm on it to make it the size of a large room on the interior; another handy feature is that when you set it down it blends in to the terrain. Next I bullied Dobby into "popping' me to Gringotts where I withdrew the entirety of my trust vault, slapped it into my trunk, and took off for the great unknown.

Looking back now I'm more surprised than anyone that I wasn't caught or eaten inside a month. Turns out I thrive under pressure. I guess that's something that I would never have found out under different circumstances since I don't think my mother ever pressured me to do anything.

There were two other major factors to my successes, luck and timing. See what the muggels called the Soviet Union just happened to have fallen right when I was making my exit from good old England. In reality what the muggles called the Soviet Union was actually the wizards of Eastern Europe deciding that they had had enough of the muggles butchering each other during World War I, and more importantly to them I suspect, ruining the view from their nicely hidden manors. So they decided to give being the philosopher kings of Plato's Utopian a try. It really is amazing what a few hundred wizards running themselves ragged with memory charms and imperious curses for six or seven decades can accomplish. Of course that was before they decided to hand the reins over to the next generation, who, when they realized how much effort it takes to force the proletariat to be nice and share, promptly gave the whole thing up as a bad job.

So what does the fall of the evil empire have to do with my not being caught yet? With the entirety of wizarding Eastern Europe reorganizing their ministries the infrastructure isn't in place to track underage magic. The fact that the wizards were too busy worrying about muggles to bother with keeping track of the various dark creatures also means that the old forests of the east are infested with vampires, werewolves, and other even more unpleasant things.

For the last three years the battle fields of Eastern Europe, magical and muggle alike, have been both my playground and school yard. I learned the Disillusionment Charm while sneaking across a check point in the Ukraine, the Protego charm In Bulgaria from an Albanian wizard while we were running away from rabid Bulgarian quiddich fans. I also learned the Tarantallegra jinx at a particularly memorable college party in Vienna. I have almost died more times than I care to count but my practical knowledge of spell work is probably better than most of the more recent Hogwarts graduates, however, if you ask me to recite Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration all you'll get is a blank look or maybe the bird, by which I mean turning you into one, it just depends on the day.

I hold the top of the trunk open for Dobby as he climbs through then close and lock it. 'You remember the coffee house that we are meeting in right Dobby?"

"Yes master I is knowing the places you is meaning!"

Dobby grabs my hand and "pops" us to a small deserted ally inside of the eastern half of Berlin. Dobby then uses the house elves' own brand of magic to make himself invisible; it wouldn't due to have someone see an "extra-terrestrial." Last time a muggle saw a house elf I heard there was a movie made about it; I'm not too keen on giving that Spielberg guy fodder for a sequel.

We walk along the side walk to a hidden wizarding café at the corner of two streets. I sit down at a table in the back of the shop and wait for my contact to get here. A pretty waitress walks up to me, and while smiling, asks me what I'd like.

"Since my elf buzz sawed my breakfast, I'll take whatever you have on the menu that has the most grease and the least sauerkraut. The greater preference being given to the least sauerkraut part." I state in almost flawless German.

The lady quirks an eyebrow in respond, and replies back in the same language, "That is honestly the worst pickup line I have ever heard. What makes it worst is it almost, almost worked." She smiles. "Do you want coffee with that cheese?"

I just roll my eyes and nod and she pours me a cup before heading off to fill my order.

While I'm sitting I notice the eyes of many of the women in the restaurant on me.

I sigh.

For some reason, besides my obvious good looks of course, I seem to attract the attention of every girl anywhere near me that happens to like "bad boys." Most young men my age would be basking in the attention. I just wonder if the girls get the same feeling that insects do as they fly inexorably towards those Muggle bug zapping lights, knowing what they are approaching is deadly, yet too captivated to stop.

I lean my chair back against the wall and take a sip of my coffee. l would still probably go for one or two of the more pretty girls except for the fact that I've never run into one that I thought was really that attractive, and my mother would kill me if I did.

My mother… At the thought of her, her death, and her killer the icy flows of rage I have worked all of these years to constrain behind walls of occlumancy and suppress with indifference tries to rear its head. The pupils of every person in the room dilate in fear while in the area immediately around me the temperature plummets.

I close my eyes, struggling with the anger and hate that is fighting to be unleashed in as violent a way as possible. Slowly they are subdued and I drive the emotions back into the prison I have built for them. The temperature gradually rises again and I feel the emotions of the wizards and witches return to normal.

Finally I open my eyes, take a deep breath, and lift the coffee to take another sip. It's frozen solid. Again I sigh. I guess it's a good thing that I froze it since the mug is covered in fissures from where my grip cracked the enchanted ceramic, better a coffee-icle than a crotch full of hot coffee. That would be uncomfortable even for me. I glumly hand the iced coffee filled mug to Dobby for thawing and repair while I restrained another sigh.

Bloody hell! When is he going to get here? I can only hold my temper in public for so long before something sets me off. My fuse is already burning; I need to get out of here before I get too worked up to stop myself.

Finally I see a man wearing official looking robes and carrying a briefcase come in, look around, then see me in the back and come sit at my table. I can tell he works for the government right away, not because of the robes or the ministry pin on his collar; it's because of the look of bone weary tiredness I can see in his eyes. The ministries are decades behind, so every worker has to do the work of three. A few years ago they started hiring contractors in order to help deal with the dark creature problem. That's where Dobby and I come in. Admittedly I don't need the money since my trust vault contained more gold than most wizards make in half a lifetime, but it gives me a chance to use ghouls and the like as stress relievers and Dobby the opportunity to wield "Chopsy."

"So are you the contractor I was sent to meet?" Inquires the official as he looks me up and down. I can tell the unspoken though running through his mind. There is no way that this young man can be him.

I simply nod my head. Even though I'm very tall and rather well muscled for my age I still look only sixteen maybe seventeen at the most. He doesn't ask again. He must have been warned not to by whoever sent him.

The man opens his briefcase, takes out a folder and passes it to me. I open it up and see a picture of an old dilapidated castle.

"That picture is of an old Teutonic stronghold up in the far northeast of the country. As you probably know the Teutonic knights were a group of Christian muggle warrior monks that devoted themselves to ridding German of paganism and witchcraft. There are hundreds of these scattered throughout the Baltic so we never really thought much of it until someone realized that muggles couldn't see it."

"Which means someone put a muggle repelling charm on it." I supply my eyes scanning the paper. "And since they were an order dedicated to stamping out witchcraft why is there witchcraft on one of their fortresses that would keep them from entering it?"

"Exactly." Replays the man. "In order to find out a team from the ministry for historic magical conservation and protection was sent to investigate. They never returned."

"So let me get this right; my job is to go into a creepy enchanted castle in a dark forsaken wood no one has been in for hundreds of years and rescue a bunch of historians that got themselves lost? Isn't saving a princess and laying one on her to awaken the lovely damsel from an enchanted sleep the traditional thing to do in such a venue? Not save a gaggle of academics."

The man looks even more uncomfortable. "Well the truth is that a young member of one of the more important families in Germany was with the team… The pay is quite high as you can see."

"Ah, I do." I toss the folder to Dobby to look at. "What do you think?"

Dobby picks up the folder and his large eyes light up when they set upon the picture of the castle. An opportunity to use Chopsy AND a massive, old and most likely filthy castle to clean when he was done? The man had him at hello.

"Alright we'll do it." I reply.

The man finally smiles with a relived look on his face. "Oh thank you!" The official gets up to go but I stop him.

"Don't forget, half the payment now and the other half when it's completed." I may not NEED the money but I am still a Malfoy after all.

"Oh, yes of course, my mistake." The man pulls out a coin purse and tosses it to me. I catch the pouch and bounce it lightly in my hand as I watch him hurry back out the door in a hurry "Did he seem to be in a bit of a rush to you?" I ask Dobby before glancing down at him. His eyes are still focused on the picture of the castle a lopsided grin slowly spreading across his face,

I smile to myself. I almost feel sorry for whatever it is inside that castle. Almost. I just hope I can convince Dobby to leave the duster behind.

~All Is Dust~

The library was quiet except for the soft rustle of parchment as Hermione flipped through the pages of yet another advanced textbook on transfiguration. Occasionally her eyes would flit up to where Ron was sitting next to her. His expression hadn't changed from that blank lost look since that night. Hermione didn't know what worried her the most; the fact the Ron had sat in the library for two hours straight without complaining, or that he had maintained that lost expression the entiretime. Knowing hin probably the former. Hermione had always assumed that her ginger haired best friend just had no emotional depth, but he seemed to have learned to feel both sorrow and guilt in the week since Harry's disappearance to an alarming degree.

To say that Hermione wasn't worried as well would be a lie. She was worried sick, but for her the way to handle any negative emotion had always been too burry herself in work. So here they were, in the library, the same place they had spent every hour of free time for the last week.

"Excuse me, you two, the Headmaster would like to speak to both of you in his office."

The two friends glanced up to see McGonagall standing next to their table. A she had an expression that was similar Hermione's on her face, one of pain and sadness, but hers was tempered by the fact that she had known such loses before, and with a touch of resignation because she knew that such loses would be suffered again.

The Gryffindors simply nodded, packed up their books, and followed behind the Deputy Headmistress.

As they walked through the halls of the ancient castle it wasn't hard to see the factions forming in the student body. Groups of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were bunched together talking in hushed whispers about how the rumors of how Madeye had taken Harry couldn't be true. Other knots of students seemed to have already accepted it as fact and were debating heatedly over who was to blame and whose head should roll for it. Others just didn't seem to know what to believe.

Finally the three arrived at the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "I want both of you to know that as your head of house, if you ever need to talk to someone about this… incident, my door is always open to you." McGonagall favors her two students with a shaky smile before heading back to attend to her other duties.

The friends stepped onto the moving staircase and then up to the door and through.

Dumbledore sat behind the large desk in the middle of the room, his fingers steeple and his chin resting upon them.

"Come in, please, both of you take a seat." Ron and Hermione took his advice and sat down the chairs proffered. "Lemon drop?" The professor offered but the students could tell that it was purely a reflex; his face had the same look as McGonagall's only sadder. At both of their silent head shakes the Headmaster sighed. "I had hoped to be able to tell you this under better circumstances, but as it seems I have but a short time left as the Headmaster of this school; I thought it best I tell you now before I am forced into retirement.

"So it's true! They really are sacking you! But how could they? Surely the rumors couldn't be true! Moody couldn't have taken Harry, he just couldn't have!" spurted out Hermione as soon as Dumbledore paused from speaking.

Dumbledore glanced down at the young lady from over the tops of his half mood spectacles. " Ms. Granger I honestly wish that was what happened; it would be far better than the reality of the situation. It appears that sometime during the summer of last year Professor Moody was replaced by a pollyjuiced Death Eater. This was the same individual that entered Harry into the Tournament. It was also the same individual that turned the Triwizard Tournament trophy into a portkey to a graveyard where Lord Voldemort was resurrected using Harry's blood in a dark ritual. I Wish there was another way for me to tell you this but…" Dumbledore closed his eyes tiredly and finished in a whisper, "Harry did not survive."

The room was deathly quiet for a handful of seconds before the silence was broken by a gut-wrenching sob from Hermione. Tears streamed in rivers from her eyes. Ron's eyes where the same as before, but now there was something else in them, something harder.

"Our enemy could not have planned his return better. Not only has he regained his body but he has also managed to keep it a secret, while at the same time discrediting me. In one fell move he has positioned himself for a grab for power from the shadows, while breaking the back of the opposition and crippling any future resistance."

"Yeah, so when are we going to kill the bugger?" replied Ron, the anger clear in his voice.

"I'm afraid that it is more complicated than that Mr. Weasly. There was a prophecy that only Harry could kill Voldemort, and now he is no more. "

"And your point is?" fires back Ron. "That bastard killed my best mate! There is no way I'm going to just let him get away with it! So some prophesy says the only way to stop Voldemort is for Harry to do it hu? Well the only way for a Quiddich game to end is if one of the seekers catches the snitch. But if your seeker gets knocked out of the game you don't just give up! The beaters start working over time! The chasers fly for all they are worth! You use tactics that you never would have considered if he was still in the game! Because at that point you aren't just playing for the win, you are playing for your friend and teammate that's been injured or worst! So what are you going to do Professor? Are you going to throw in the towel and call it a game? Or are you going to go back and throw everything you have into it and fight, for Harry."

At this point Ron's voice cracked and he stopped, swallowing back his tears.

Dumbledore slowly opened his eyes again and gazed at Ron considering his words. Finally he nodded and his shoulders straitened as his gaze filled with resolve.

"Of course, you are right Mr. Weasly. We fight."

Slowly Hermione looked up, wiped the tears from her sparkling eyes and nodded her head with conviction.

"We fight, for Harry."

AN: I had an amazing speech lined up for Ron. It was going to be amazing, but then I remembered, he has the emotional depth of a teaspoon. *sigh* so I deleted it and wrote some crap about Quiddich. Sad day. Ah well thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I claim nothing as my own, for hell hath no fury like an author whose outstanding copyrights hath been infringed upon. (I think that's how the saying goes right?…)

AN: After this chapter there will be one more time skip on to what would be Draco's seventh year. Because Voldemort's return was more covert this time it enabled him to grab control of the country a year sooner.

Chapter 2

"There had bloody well better be a Princess at the end of this, one that looks like that Diana lady on the cover of those magazines, or whatever they're called, you read. If she looks like the queen those muggles have now I'm leaving her here."

"Dobby is finding her royal highness most prettyful!"

"Yeah, the fact that a house elf thinks she's nice on the eyes doesn't prove my point at all."

"Then Dobby is being the one who is going to be saving the queen!"

"And I'll send a wedding gift. Seriously Dobby, why did you even bring those tabloids into our trunk? They are just going to rot your mind, not that there is much of one to begin with."

"Master should not speak such kind words to Dobby!"

I have no idea where Dobby picked up sarcasm, or was that sarcasm? I can never tell with that elf. What prompted him to start bringing home tabloids I don't know either. Although I disparage them to his face I will, on occasion, read a page or two. I justify it by calling it "opposition research." Seriously, those muggles are more twisted than I thought." Father was right, muggles are all freaks.

I force my mind back on track.

Before us stands an ominous fortress. The center keep is ringed about by high stone walls of granite that look to be able to break armies like waves upon the cliffs of a jagged rocky coastline, and appeared just as deadly to those that are foolish enough to venture near. There are towers slicing up from the ground along the walls, some of them ending in jagged crumbling points that, despite their dilapidated state, made the structure as a whole all the more menacing. The entire structure seemed to seep malevolence. I smile, this will be fun.

Dobby and I walk towards the dilapidated entrance, a thing of shattered towers and broken portcullises to which the shadows enshrouding it lend the look of a gaping maw of a great primal titan of old waiting to swallow any foolish enough to enter it's gullet. I crack my knuckles as I walk through the entrance Dobby at my side his blade in his hand and his eyes alight. If the appearance is no lie, and this is some sort of devouring monster of darkness and stone, we are about to give it one hell of a case of indigestion.

The gatehouse is completely dark in a way that can't be natural; there isn't a glimmer of illumination to be seen. A foul sent reaches my nostrils.

"Lumos."

The path in front of me is almost completely blocked by a wall of walking rotting corpses. Inferi, damn. Well that explains the smell. The most commonly held belief is that the best way to rid oneself of inferi is to use fire to drive them away. Conventional wisdom holds that the best spell to cast in this situation would be an incendio; conventional wisdom can go bugger itself for all I care. I'm here to rescue some worthless academics, and I'm not doing that by driving a horde of stinking, rotting, and most importantly, hungry undead in front of me. I opt for the messier, yet still effective, approach of parting their heads from their bodies 'a la severing charms.

I immediately begin furiously casting diffindos and piercing curses, each piercer finds the head of an inferi, and each cutter unerringly impacting a neck. Dobby knows the drill, I'll take care of anything at range and in front and he'll handle anything that tries to flank or get behind me. One of the creatures surges towards me, its arms outstretched, its fingers splayed, mouth wide and jaws gnawing in search of flesh. I spin to my right, wand drawn and fire off a piercer point blank causing its head to explode in a shower of feted gore. Dobby pops next to another of the inferi and cleaves its skull from its neck as it tries to throttle me from behind.

It really isn't much of a fight. Most of the creatures are decapitate before they get close enough to do me harm, and the ones that do get close enough soon meet, or rather are reacquainted with, their end by the fierce edge of "Chopsy." All that is left to do is step over the disgusting twitching remains as we continue to walk through to the end of the passage.

As soon as we make it to the end of the gatehouse I know that something is wrong; it's like an itch between my shoulder blades. We are being watched.

I extinguish my lumos and duck behind a solid block of fallen granite, Dobby right behind me. I take a few moments to observe my surroundings. We are in a square courtyard completely encircled by stone walls topped with sneering gargoyles and riddled through with murder slits that the defenders of old would use to rain down death upon any intruder that managed to breach this far.

It's the perfect place for an ambush.

Now that I'm looking I can see skeletons, their bones bleached white and their skull's empty eye sockets gazing at the sky, littered throughout the entire area doesn't do much to place me at ease.

"This isn't a fortress Dobby, this is a tomb."

"Master is being right; all of the cleanings in the world would not be getting the smells of dead things out of this place."

I nod to myself. "Dobby, can you scout ahead? See if there are any traps to worry about." My elf bobs his head in agreement, snaps his fingers, and disappears from sigh. House elf magic is very useful and can be rather powerful, but is also limited. It pretty much is constrained to movement of objects, invisibility, and "popping," their own form of aperation. All of those things make Dobby great at seeing while not being seen.

I wait impatiently for him to return, my eyes flitting about the gothic displays searching for threats. Finally, after what feels like an hour, Dobby reappears beside me and nods his head.

"Yes master; there is being some kind of ward on the grounds, one much too hard for Dobby to be breaking."

So I was right. Well, if you can't disable the trap, the next best way to get rid of it is to spring it knowingly and unleash hell on whatever comes for you.

I step out into the courtyard

My forward movement is greeted by a chorus of pops and snaps from atop the parapets. I glance up to see previously hidden runes etched into to statues glow a faint red as the gargoyles all began to stir. I count seven of them. One by one animated statues begin to jump down and land with the sound of cobblestones shattering under them from the force or the fall.

Good thing I'm me, otherwise I might be in trouble.

I roll to the side and fire a Bombardment hex off at a cluster of the stone monstrosities across the yard. The light of the spell fills the courtyard with an orange flow, and I dive behind a fallen pillar of stone to weather the coming blast.

I glance over my cover to see my spell impact; the desire to observe explosions is a universal male trait I understand, only to witness the runes on my intended targets flare brighter and brighter as my spell approaches. Instead of impacting as normal, tiny filaments of light brake off and spiraled towards the runes carved upon the gargoyle's slate gray skin. As more and more of the magic from my spell is leached towards the runes my curse grows dimmer and dimmer until it fizzles out half way to my targets. The only changes in the mobile statuary I can notice being that they look extremely pissed. Damn, they're magic resistant. With the muggle repelling wards outside and these golem inside that seem to practically be built to kill wizards, it's becoming clear that someone didn't want ANYONE getting in here. I'm beginning to think I'm not going to return that family's son in anything but a body bag.

If I was a normal wizard I would be saying my prayers to whatever deity it was that I call God. Luckily for me, and unluckily for anything else in the area, I'm not a regular wizard. I had hoped that I wouldn't have to do this but I guess I have no choice. "Dobby, I'm going to unleash on these guys, help me with them then try to find the people we were sent to save and get them out." I don't need the other half of the money but, again, I am a Malfoy.

I concentrate on the barriers that I have constructed of occlumency to contain my rage, the restrains that I have built to make myself safe around others, and let them relax. I feel power flow into me as the heat around me is sucked away into nothingness. Hoar frost spreads out from me in a slow wave across the grass. The water vapor in the air crystalizes as well and settles slowly to the ground, giving me the appearance of being surrounded by a cloak of icy mist. I feel the freezing wrath wrest control from me, and I surrender to it.

I crouch down, lung forward, rear my hand back, and smash my fist into the closes statue's face. Its head dissolves in a spray of pulverized stone and dust. I snarl as I role away from the swipe of another gargoyle.

Another of the golems springs towards me head first; its jaws spread wide, intent on ripping a chunk out of me. As I spin away I grab the creature by the back of its head and use its forward motion to smash its face into the ground. Its momentum continues to carry the now faceless statue tumbling and rolling across the courtyard till it impacts upon the far wall, breaking into dozens of stone shards.

I hear a pop beside me and turn around in time to see Dobby banish a gargoyle at a right angle past me, apparently the runes don't protect against house elf magic. I reach out, grab its arm, rip it off and use it to smash another animate's chest, the force of the collision turns it and my improvised weapon into gravel. Three and a fourth down, three and three forths to go. Make that an even three since Dobby just dropped a granite block the size of a small muggle automobile on the one I maimed.

The rage is driving me. These golems are nothing. They move so slowly to me and they are so stupid I could crush them without trying. The fire singing in my bones demands a greater challenge, something that will test me, something that bleeds. The small part of me that is still myself hopes fervently that I don't encounter the team I am here for before I find something to sate the thirst for violence of the ice in my heart. It's bad business to slaughter those you were sent to save.

The rest is just cleanup. We pulverize them one by one and inside of another minute the courtyard is covered in shattered stone limbs and shards of granite. It isn't enough. I need more.

I feel my instincts pull me towards the entrance of the keep, and hopefully, something worthy of my strength. I stalk over to the ancient ironbound oaken doors and push. They don't budge. I bring my leg up and kick out with all my might. The gates shake but remain firm. Incensed by its resistance, I kick again and again, over and over, until at last whatever is holding them in place breaks and the doors swing open with an almost deafening creak of rusted hinges.

The entrance to the keep is a dark yawning chasm which seems to beckon to me; I gladly rush onward to where even the angels would fear to tread.

First to challenge me is a group of ghouls. They lasted as long as it took me to force my hand through each of their chests and rip out their hearts. Next came a coven of vampires. Generally speaking the traditional method of destroying them is to drive a stake through their heart or expose them to sunlight; ripping their heads from their shoulders apparently has the same end result. The last one did cut open my shoulder before I ended him however, credit must be given where credit is due.

I lose track of all of the creatures that I run into and subsequently slaughter. Finally, after innumerable challenges and obstacles met, and destroyed, I reach the center of the keep.

The entire innermost part of the great citadel seems to be one great circular chamber so vast I cannot even see the center of it, and whose ceiling stretches upward into the darkness. I see a faint glow off in the distance. If I was in my right mind I would have realized that there was no way that this enclosure could fit inside of the structure that I saw from outside. I am not, so only a small portion of my consciousness notes this as I walk towards the center of the room.

Eventually, as I draw near, I see a black robed figure kneeling in what appears to be the center of the room. His head is bowed and his arms folded into his sleeves. As I approach I see his head lift as slowly he stands to face me, his robes billow in flowing black folds that seem to float around his body.

"So, young one, you are finally here. I could feel your rage as soon as you entered my… retreat… you positively seethe with it."

His voice has a refined deep sound to it, like that of a cello played in the hands of a master. Instead of responding I simply snarl and lung for him, my hands outstretched, ready to tear him apart. He simple steps aside and I fly by, my fingers scant inches from his hooded face.

"Is that all young one? I confess that I find myself disappointed."

I can hear the mocking tune in his voice and feel his emotions, there is no fear as there usually is, only wry amusement, and this simply reinforces my rage. I feel the air drop even further in temperature and see ice crystals begin to form along the ground and walls.

"Ah, so you can feel my emotions and affect the temperature around you? Only when you are being controlled by your emotions and only to a small extent as well it seems. You are beginning to show a small grain of promise, but a little is all."

I crouch down and spring at him again, intent on ripping him limb from limb. Again he simply steps to the side but instead of simply letting me pass by his hands dart out impossibly fast and impact my body in a half dozen places. I collapse to the ground and roll, agony pulsing through my body.

Never before have I encountered anything that my rage couldn't overcome, but this man has dispatched me with was seems little to no effort on his part. The fire in my bones burn all the fiercer, but now, like never before, its rage is empty. I am beaten. The figure paces around me, circling me like a bird of prey, hands forming a steeple below his cowl.

"Let me guess, you try your best to control your emotion. Perhaps you have tried occlumency? Or maybe you try, like many before you, to simply coat yourself in indifference and try your best to not care about anything so as not to awaken the beast that dwells inside your breast? After all, the best way to not become angry is to not care about anything enough to be angered at its loss. That is the most common practice of those of our kind that have no guidance when they awaken, but their end is always the same; I would not wish that fate upon you my young friend…" the man crouches over me, and I can feel his eyes looking at me from underneath his hood.

"I could teach you young one, I have done it before in my five hundred years. I could show you how to harness that which you have been given. I could instruct you in how to wield the strength which you now can only call up through anger, how to freeze rivers solid with your hate. I can instruct you on how to latch onto the fear of someone once you feel it and follow it to the ends of the earth. Now you let your emotions rule you, I could show you how to rule them, control them, and gain power from them."

My mind is in turmoil this man, creature, thing, is offering me everything that I could ever ask for. He is offering to teach me how to use my abilities to hunt someone down… I could finally find my parent's murderer. Slowly, with a monumental effort of will I didn't even know I was capable of until that moment, I bring my emotions back under my control.

I can feel the stranger's amusement even though I cannot see his face.

"Good my friend, you are learning already! The first lesson is that you must learn to bridle your emotions, as one would a horse, and ride them, not be ridden by them. Now sit up and let us discuss things together as men you and I."

I bring myself to my feet and follow him, limping slightly from my injuries, as he walks back to where he was sitting before. I now see that what was glowing was not a fire as I had originally supposed, but a beautiful sword lying horizontally across a stand. I sit down across from him and ask the first question that comes to mind.

"What…. What am I?"

"What are you my friend? You are a member of an ancient race that ruled this world while humans still dressed in furs and didn't dared venture out of their caves for fear of the horrors of the night. I suspect that you are a wizard as well?"

I nod in response.

"Then you are a genetic throwback to your family's distant ancestry. Once upon a time there was no such thing as wizards or witches, once there were only regular humans but eventually these human began to interbreed with other, more magical races. Some would mate with what where later known as angels and daemon, others would have children with the fay in their various forms. All of these unions produced offspring that had access to the world beyond, or magic as it is called today. I believed that answered your first unspoken question of how did I get this way?"

Again I nod, numb with this new knowledge. Was my father aware of this when he gave his speeches on the inferiority of other magical races? I suspect not. Even if he had heard it I am sure that he would have simply discarded it as more "Disgusting propaganda of those wishing to excuse their poor breeding." I however simply listen as he continues.

"The race to which you belong no longer exists in its true form. Once the males of our kind were the greatest hunters the world had ever known. Our very aura generated terror, our minds could catch upon the threads of that fear, feed on it, and follow it back to its source. Our ancestors' instincts as predators and hunters were so strong that nothing could withstand them. Only when we were in the presence of a female of our kind, where the female's aura would sooth our minds and calm us, would we transform into something more human."

I can sense touches of sadness and anger enter his voice as he continues.

"Wizards deemed us too dangerous to be allowed to exist, and so began a campaign to exterminate every last male of our kind. They left our women though. Our women are still the most beautiful in existence, but now they are all alone, left to peddle themselves to wizards to so as not to starve, and all the children that they produce are girls. For all intents and purposes the race of veela is dead but for you, me, and a few hundred females."

"Veela!" I breathe in shock. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined an answer like this. When I thought of veela I pictured unspeakably beautiful women with silvery blond hair that transformed into fierce fire flinging bird creatures when sufficiently angered, not the cold rage that strengthened me or the icy aura that surrounded me.

"Surprised?" the dark cloaked figure suddenly stands and begins to pace around me, his shadow twisting and swirling in the faint light gleaming from the mirrored surface of the sword. The hooded robe he wears gives him the appearance of death himself. "Let us compare the facts that we know shall we? Both you and a veela project an aura that affects humans. Yours like your ancestors generates fear, and theirs still attracts the opposite sex, although with human's passions being as fickle at they are it affects them far more than it would you or me. While they are able to manipulate fire at will you are able to suck away heat from the surroundings, both in the end are simply the manipulation of heat. Although you don't have enough veela blood in you to be able to fully transform like both the male veela of old and as women full-blooded enough of today still can, you do have the temper that veela are famous for, and in spades I might add."

"Ok, that may be so, but I must ask, who are you?"

The man stops in his pacing, looks down at me, cocks his head to the side, and seems to look at me considering. Finally, slowly, he brings his hands up to his hood and draws it down. "I suppose introductions are in order. I have been called many names in my time, but you may call me Boruta." The face under his hood has sharp aristocratic features unlined by passing time and framed by pale blonde hair. The silver of his hair was that gained at birth, not through the wearing of time. The only sign of the years he has seen are his eyes, the pales eyes that I have ever witnessed. There is far more silver than blue in his ancient faded irises.

"Ok so let's assume all that you say is true, Boruta or whatever your name is, this doesn't seem like your typical summer holiday spot." I ask, suspicions, like a cyclone compressed to the size of a thought swirl inside my mind.

Boruta slowly closes his eyes, turns his back and faces the shadows. "Humans have always seen themselves as superior to every other being on this world. The have always believed that they are the apex predator. Historically, whenever another being threatens their supremacy, mankind has done everything in their power to drive that threat into extinction. Wizards have done the same but on a far grander scale, only when they find another race useful they add enslavement to the list. You were raised as a wizard were you not?"

I simple nod my head in response. There is no reason to bring up my father's more controversial views on the subject of "lesser beings" staying in their place or being kept in their place.

Boruta turns back around to face me; his eyes harden as they lock onto mine.

"Let me explain it in a way that I believe you can understand. Someone killed my family, I wanted justice, and I was sealed here to keep me from getting that justice. I think you can empathize with that."

I nod my head. That is indeed something I can sympathize with. The fact that I haven't been able to avenge my own family is like a canker in the back of my mind.

"My name is Draco Malfoy. My parents were murdered in front of my eyes when I was eleven. My greatest wish since that day has been for vengeance, but I have been unable to find their killer."

Boruta gives me a sad smile at that and asks gently, "What would you do if you found him Draco?"

"I would kill him!" I half snarl back. The what was never in question, only the when and how.

"So you would simply kill him? Would the culmination of your years of striving for vengeance be concluded simply in you ending him? No Draco, no. There was a saying where I come from, and I believe there is one like it everywhere, let the punishment fit the crime. Does simply killing him make up for the loss of your parents? A well-wrought revenge is more beautiful to the memory than the recollection of a painting by the finest masters, and its taste upon the pallet of the mind is far above than of the finest wines on the tongue. In this I can instruct you as well young one."

I think upon the idea, and find the more that I dwell on the notion the more I am attracted to it. Not simply to find him and see justice done, but to make him feel the same pain that I have felt and have him endure the same sorrows that I have weathered? My decision is made before he has drawn another breath. "I'll do it, teach me, please." Then something suddenly strikes the cords of my memory, Dobby… "Sir, when I came here I was accompanied by a house elf. Would you happen to know where he is?"

Suddenly the sad smile that he was wearing changes to a bemused one.

"Ah yes, the house elf, if I am not mistaken he was caught by the compulsion wards on the second floor and is presently dusting that entire level."

"Hum.. I better go get him then.." I mutter to myself, I knew I should have insisted he leave the bloody duster in the trunk.

"Oh, don't worry about it right now, he is enjoying himself at the moment and there isn't anything dangerous left on that floor. Later you may go get him. You will need him to be your eyes and ears in the world, for you will not leave this place until your training is complete."

"And how long will that take." I ask hesitantly.

"It will take as long as it takes." Slowly Boruta kneels down upon the ground and places his hands on upon the stone floor. I sense a barely perceptible drop in temperature and the stone under his hands begins to glow. Slowly he presses down upon the granite and his hands push through is as though it were water, when he withdraws them in each hand is clutched a shining bastard sword.

"Sword training strengthens both your mental discipline and your physical strength, you are sorely lacking in both." Boruta tosses one of the weapons to me and I barely catch it without slicing myself open with the edge of the blade.

Another idle thought comes to me and I have to ask, "One last thing; there wouldn't happen to be a princess here would there?"

The smile stays, but becomes even more bemused as he glances at the center of the room. "As a matter of fact there is, of sorts anyways. I'll introduce you later."

The smile that has continued to grace his features suddenly turns predatory.

"Defend yourself!"

As I desperately and awkwardly try to parry his vicious slice, there is one thing that I know for sure; if I survive this the tale of my vengeance will be remembered in song a thousand years from now and shall be sung as a warning to those that would seek to do evil to a Malfoy.

~All Is Dust~

Fleur sat in one of the window seats of the Beauxbatons carriage, her feet curled underneath her and her sister's weeping head cradled in her lap. Her sorrow filled gaze was fixed upon the maze of the third task as it slowly disappeared bellow them. So much had changed in the last few days, yet no one was aware of it. The life of the boy-who-lived, the beloved child hero of this country, had been offered in sacrificed for that of a monster, yet the Fudge insisted he was captured by a crazy policeman. It is amazing the damage that small men trying desperately to appear big can wreak.

Dumbledore had called her and the other champions into his office the day before and explained to them what had happened. She had broken down in tears on the spot. That such a kind brave boy could experience such a cruel fate broke her heart. The two boys did not weep but it was clear that each was affected in their own way. Cedric's sorrow at the passing of one he called a friend was clear and Krum's anger at the death of someone that he had considered a worthy and honorable opponent was equally evident. The fact that Harry happened to be the best friend of the girl that had his eye only increased his anger. Fleur had asked the Headmaster if she could tell her sister since she worshiped Harry as her rescuer; Dumbledore had very kindly answered in the affirmative.

Fleur gently stroked her little sister's hair and hummed a lullaby into her ear. It really hadn't surprised her that her sister was taking it badly. Veela always sought out the strongest and braves men for mates, and she had never met anyone braver than Harry. Fleur knew that little Gabriela had dreams of marrying him when she got older, no doubt dreams filled castles and being carried to those castle by Harry on a white horse. Luckily time heals all wounds, especially in the young.

Fleur would always remember Harry fondly, and be greatly sorrowed at his death, but she was in a position to do more than simply morn. Her father would hear everything that Dumbledore had told her. She watched the forbidden forest recede into the distance as the carriage carried them back to Beauxbatons and then, for the two sisters at least, on to meet their father at the Prime minister's mansion. England perhaps, would be taken by surprise with the coming storm, but France would not.

~All Is Dust~

Severus Snape was drunk. Not just drunk, he was more pissed than he had ever been in his life.

It still wasn't enough.

Snape picked up his bottle of fire whisky and took a long pull. He was still trying to figure out why he hadn't ended it all yet. When he found out that he had caused the death of the only woman he had ever loved he had wanted to end it, but Dumbledore had persuaded him that he still had a debt to Lily. The fact that that debt had fallen to Potter's spawn made him want to eat his own cauldron, but it was a debt that he accepted. Now that headache, that constant reminder that Lily had chosen someone else, that emblem of his culpability in her death, and yet also the reason for his continued existence, was dead.

Snape brought the bottle back to his lips, only to find it empty. Damn, he thought, still not drunk enough. But then he didn't expect that he would ever be able to drink enough to purge the memory of the Dark Lord parading the body of Harry Potter through the ranks of his death eaters. The sight of those eyes he loved closed forever had ripped him apart. The fact that those eyes were set in the face he hated did nothing to ease his pain; the fact only seemed to make him bitterer for some reason.

And there it was again, no matter the train of thought or the line of reasoning it always came back to one thing; why was he even still alive? What was his purpose now? To teach snot nosed kids how to brew halfway decent potions and not blow themselves up in the process? No potions and the Dark Arts were his passions, teaching one of them was simply a favor to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore… now there was something to think about. Snape felt that he himself should take a bit of the blame for not spotting the imposter. Perhaps, looking back, he should have looked into the disappearance of the makings for pollyjuice potion more fully instead of blaming potter and his band of misfits, although heavens knew that he had reasons enough to jump to that conclusion. Despite that, the lion's share of the blame had to fall on Dumbledore. How could he not see that one of his best, although admittedly unstable, friends was actually an imposter? The fool.

No matter what decision Snape made after this night one thing had already crystalized in his mind, the old man wasn't to be trusted. Snape had entrusted Lily's safety to him and she was now dead, same story with her son. Whatever he did from now on it would be at his own discretion not the old man's.

And again it came down to the same question but phrase in a different, more deceptively positive way; why hadn't he tried to kill Voldemort yet? The monster was responsible for so much of the loss and sorrow in his life. The true reason was that it would be as useful as trying to kill a typhoon by swan diving into it, nothing that he could do would destroy it and by no conceivable force that he possessed could he stop it.

All of those questions that he had been asking himself always came back to the same disturbing answer. Severus Snape did not want to die, or at least die in vain.

Slowly and with the utmost care his inebriated body was able to muster Snape opened the bottom door on his desk and withdrew his most prized possession, a photo of him and Lily together in their third year at one of Slughorn's potions classes after he had gained top marks in his potions exam. Severus slowly stroked the picture, tears in his eyes.

Suddenly he heard a whisper in his ear, so faint that he almost missed it, in the voice he loved more than any other.

"_Severus, I'm with Harry now. I forgive you and have never held anything against you. Be at peace and know that I will always be watching over you."_

The voice ran through Snape's mind like a wildfire through drought stricken field, destroying preconceived notions and prejudices, and leaving his mindscape desolate of all of the pain and sadness he had felt before. In its place was left a fertile field for him to do with and plant as he would. Snape was stunned and didn't know what to think. Was it just the alcohol speaking? Had he finally cracked and gone insane? Or had Lily truly reached beyond the grave to give him comfort and absolution? He didn't know, but what he did know was that the forgiveness he felt was real and had changed his life forever.

Finally, he rose to his feet and began to make his way to his bed. His mind still filled with questions, but finally two answers had solidified in his mind. One was that he would always love Lily and wish things had worked out differently between them, but he would finally let go of his guilt. The other came to his mind as he fell into his bed and his eyes rested on the mark on his arm; there was also someone that he would never forgive. He would live for himself, remember the dead, and avenge them both.

AN: I feel that a lot of stuff happens in this chapter so I think I need to explain things a bit. The reason that I wanted to do a male veela was that it is practically a genre unto itself, but usually it is used simply as a plot device in order to hook Draco and Harry up (this has been parodied, with hilarious results, by some great authors), or to hook Harry up with as many witches as possible. I wanted to do a different twist on it that no one has done before.

Basically the way I came up with the difference between male and female veela is the zoologist in me running wild wondering what biological imperative was fulfilled by both the aura and the unearthly beauty in veela? I decided they had both because without them they would never attract a mate. So that's how I came up with a race of hunt obsessed psychic apex predators that are only safe when in the presence of a female of their kind because of the aura that they put out. (Pheromones altering the behavior of the opposite sex is more than common in mammals after all) So I decided to have the female veela aura do that for the males since violent hunters wouldn't usually make the best father figures. (I live in Mississippi trust me I know.) The powers and all get explain in the next chapter which will take place two years after this one (this is also the last time skip FYI) and will be the real beginning of the story since the last three have been mostly set up. Hopefully this will be the last author's note I need! Thanks for reading!

p.s. Do you think I should up the rating?


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing put the paper this is printed on, and since it isn't printed on paper…

All Is Dust

Two years later.

The ring of steel on steel echoes through the dark expanse of the slowly cooling room, our blows are traded so fast that the sound is continuous, for with every returning reverberation from the walls a new one is sent out in its place by our clashing swords.

I bring my blade up before me and barely avert being cloven in two. As I spin away droplets of sweat spray outward in a glistening arch. I reach out with my mind and expand my aura to the limit of my capacity. I can feel the energy all around me; I draw lightly upon it. The temperature drops further as more of the heat in the room is suck into my body, strengthening it and lending it swiftness that cannot be equaled in nature. It is just enough to allow me to intercept his blade with mine and keep from being bifurcated as my opponent slices at me with the speed of a striking serpent; shockwaves from the impact of our colliding weapons spread up my arm and sparks fly.

I leap backwards in a desperate attempt to gain distance from my foe. I land lightly in a crouch, my sword in my right hand and my wand in my left, and immediately cast a blasting curse at my adversary; he merely swats it away like a gnat with the flat of his blade. That's fine; I just needed a little time to concentrate. I draw in even more energy from the air and stone around me; frost begins to form along the ground. I take the energy that I have collected, virtually all that I can hold, touch the rock beneath me, and drive that energy along with my purpose for it into the stone.

The results are instantaneous. Concentric rows or three foot long stone blades explode out of the ground around me and spread outwards in an ever expanding ring of granite razors. Viewed from above, I'm sure it would look like the blossoming of the deadliest flower ever to be envisioned by the human imagination.

My opponent raises his hand and unleashes I blast of concussive force towards me, shattering my stone blades as if they were made of glass and hurling them back towards me like a horizontal hailstorm of whirling razors.

Damn! I wasn't expecting that. I know that no Protago that I can produce is capable of weathering such an assault, so I do the only thing that I possibly can; I pull in as much energy in as I am able and force it into the ground. A ten foot wall of rock erupts out of the floor in front of me. I duck behind my barricade and immediately produce a protago. The storm of stone shards impacts the bastion that I have shaped, and his unstoppable force is introduced to my newly minted immovable object, with spectacular results. My wall breaks in a hundred places with the sound of an earth quake, but the blast of force had been stopped as well, all that is left are a few pieces of stone shrapnel that glance off my protago.

I would feel happy for myself, except for the fact that I know I've played right into his hands. The air around me is arctic. There is virtually no energy left for me to use, there's maybe enough for me to hold him off for a few seconds in hand to hand, but that is all.

Suddenly an idea comes to me, and I smile, it's just insane enough to maybe, and that's a huge maybe, work. Even if my plan fails though it will look spectacular.

Before I have time to act, my adversary smashes through the remnants of my wall, his sword raised ready to slice me in twain. In desperation I suck up every last bit of energy in the room and force it into my legs as I flip backwards, raise my wand, and scream, "Fiendfyre!"

A massive dragon of Coruscating scarlet flames explodes out of my wand and heads straight for my opponent.

The entire room is covered in ice and any regular human that entered would have frostbite in little to no time, still I'm not surprised when my adversary simply touches the ground in front of him and a three foot thick stone ring erupts around the flame wrought reptile, completely seal it away.

"You were foolish to use so much of the energy in this room so soon, all you have left to combat me with is your own strength and you know as well as I that that is not nearly enough to save you."

My opponent continues to walk towards me at a leisurely pace, confident in my defeat. And why shouldn't he be? He knows as well as I do that I am only able to absorbed natural heat and can as well snatch a moonbeam from the sky as draw any energy directly from a magical fire. And he would be right, if he hadn't just incased the mother of all magical fires inside a wall of stone, stone that was quickly being heated by that raging magical inferno at its heart. Just as planned. Now all I need to do is stall a bit.

"Yeah, well I wasn't expecting you to turn my shaping back on me that easily, I will admit that that surge of force was impressive." Just a little more time…. I begin firing off a constant stream of curses, hexes, and jinxes that would do everything from perm his hair to ripping his insides apart. He deflects each one lazily down into the ground with practiced ease. He comes closer and closer to me. I wait a little longer; if this is going to work I need to time it precisely.

Now!

I reach out and rip as much energy from my flaming creation's prison as I can hold. The wall, already compromised by the constant heat, cracks in a thousand places from the sudden thermal energy change and my fiendfyre dragon explodes through its weakened prison in a wave of flame and a shower of stone. My adversary whirls around to face the new threat.

I take the opportunity to strike. I gather all of the energy that I absorbed, forced it into my legs, and spring forward towards his exposed back, my blade posed to strike. I smile to myself; I had him at last…..

I wake up sometime later with a throbbing headache.

"Bloody hell Boruta, I thought I had you dead to rights! What happened?"

"What happened was that I thrashed you yet again my young friend. However, I must admit the trick with the fiendfyre was rather clever."

"Not cleaver enough apparently." I grumble to myself as I regain my feet again. I feel like someone smashed my face into a wall, which now that I think about it, very likely could be what actually happened.

"Now Draco, you have made amazing progress in the two years since you came to us. You can control your emotions now so are not at risk of going berserk and destroying everything in sight." Boruta walked into my view, a smile on his face as he continued, "Besides, there is a reason that I was sealed away here instead of being killed. No one was good enough to slay me five hundred years ago, and I doubt that that has changed now."

"Yeah, my headache bears witness to that."

"Stop complaining, you are late for your lesson with Katrina and you know how she is when you are tardy."

Bloody hell, that's right! I better get going or I'll never hear the end of it.

I walk across the expanse of Boruta's sanctuary to its very center. I come up to the alter in the middle and, kneeling down in front of it; gently grasp the softly glowing bastard sword. I bring the blade before my face and see that reflected in its gleaming steel is not my own visage, but the image of a beautiful woman, her face is a perfect heart shape set with two crystal blue eyes framed by waves of gold red hair. A mischievous smile forms on her lips.

"_You're late Draco, as they say punctuality is next to godliness, and you are proving yourself to be the poster child for mortality."_

As her lips move in her image in the polished steel, I heard her words take shape in my mind.

"I believe that the expression is that cleanliness is next to godliness, not punctuality, Katrina."

Her smile changes into a sly grin at my word and she shoots back, "_Perhaps, you may be right Draco, I'm not up to speed with the colloquialisms of the peasantry. However, I think in that as well you are as shining an example of the human condition as any I have seen." _

Suddenly her face fades away, and in its place is left my reflection. Ok so perhaps her jab at my hygiene was warranted. Caked on dust from the stone that was shattered during Boruta's training has covered my face in a gray mask, the only exception is where a trickle of blood from a cut at my hair line has cleared away the dust, but left a red stain in its wake . In short, I look a mess.

"Ok, so maybe I am kind of a mess at the moment." I admit.

Katrina's face reappears in the swords surface and she responds, _"A bit of a mess? Draco, in my time I have seen the unwashed masses covered in the most unspeakable of substances, yet still you manage to break into my top ten. Good thing my vessel is made of goblin forged steel and not a mirror or you would have broken it just by looking at me." _

Ouch, that was a bit harsh, even for Katrina.

"Thanks a lot, that really helps me feel good about myself Katrina. Anything you would like to say about my smell while we are at it? We may as well get all these thoughts out in the open."

"_Oh trust me; you already have more than a high enough opinion of yourself. Besides, men are supposed be disgusting and dirty, it's practically required for you in order to prove your "manliness," or whatever you call it. The main reason for man's existence, in my opinion, is that no matter how ugly or fat a woman may feel on any given day, all she has to do is look at the closes man to realize that it could be infinitely worst, she could look like THAT! You are too pretty by half; you put that rock of reassurance in every woman's life in question!"_

I scratch my head. I'm not entirely sure if I was just complemented or insulted, most likely a bit of both knowing her.

"Yeah… so you dissecting my looks is I all very nice and all but can we get started?"

She pouts, and very prettily to I might add.

"_Fine, you know what to do."_

I close my eyes and concentrate on the sword in my hand and allow my consciousness to drift. I feel my mind being caught like a leaf in a whirlpool, my conscious is drawn closer and closer to the one inside of the sword until I feel my mind touch Katrina's.

I open my eyes and everything has changed. Where once there were solid stone walls encircling me now all I can see is a beautiful forest clearing and the soring snowcapped peaks of distant mountains, all I can smell is the fragrance of the blue and gold wild flowers scattered throughout the meadow, and all I can hear is the soft chirping of songbirds over the distant crash of a waterfall. I have to hand it to her, Katrina's imagination is spectacular. Last time it was a castle that looked to have been made of lavender shaded blown glass gilded in silver and gold.

"I love what you've done with the place. It's much more low-key than yesterday."

"I will defend the gilding of my imaginary lilies till my dying breath Draco. I need to do something feminine every now and then. You try being stuck with Borates for five hundred years straight; it may even make you start feeling masculine."

Damn, she's on a role today. I would offer a verbal repost, but I have learned through painful experience that Katrina is always right, or if she isn't right you had better pretend she is regardless. She claims she's training me for later life.

I turn around and there she is, standing in the middle of the clearing. She is every bit the visage of beauty and grace that she was five hundred years ago when her soul was ripped from her body and chained inside a sword for all time. It's sad really; she had the power to equal Dumbledore, and an intellect that eclipsed Voldemort's, yet she was trapped her at such a young age. She still refuses to speak of how it happened, or how she became trapped here with Borates; I simple assume that she was with him when he was ensnared. I am lucky though, she has been more than willing to teach me the ins and outs of magic. The spotty patchwork of magical lore that I had when I came here two years ago has been replaced by knowledge of the arcane greater than most that draw breathe today. She has also driven more esoteric information into my skull, why I need to be fluent in Romanian or French I have no idea, but she has wedged the information so deeply into my mental processes that I dream in a mix of both sometimes. I can also quite competently field dress a deer by hand.

I simply smile, bow, and respond, "It's good to see you again Katrina, as always you are such a vision of loveliness that the beauty of the crimson rose pales in comparison and the lily weeps in shame."

A pretty blush spreads across her flawless porcelain skin; she pulls her waist length braid over her shoulder, spreads her skirt out around her and sits gracefully on the emerald grass as she pretends to fan herself with her hands.

"Draco, keep speaking sweet nothings like that to me and I will have to change my opinion of pretty boys."

"And what is your opinion of pretty boys dare I ask?" I inquire as I approach and take a seat on the soft grass across from her.

"Oh something along the lines that they are all looks and no substance? Or perhaps that their existence is like that of a butterfly, they may be beautiful to look a, but are fragile and fleeting? I don't know, I've used up all of my witty retorts for today."

I simply smile and ask, "So what are we doing today?"

"I simply wish to speak with you. Are you still planning on leaving on your birthday?"

"Yes, I believe that is still the plan, Dobby has been back in England for the last two weeks preparing the manor for my return."

"So, tomorrow then, Borates will miss you. I know he has enjoyed himself immensely making a man out you."

"I'm sure, I will miss him as well, but he knows that I have a mission to accomplish."

"Ah yes, your much delayed vengeance. I understand that the list has grown?" she cocks her head to one side and arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"Yes, it has. I now know who the murderer is, I know his associates and the ones who aided and abetted him, then and now. They will not be held guiltless either." My fists clench and my eyes narrow, if it wasn't for the last two years of rigorous training the field of flowers we sat in would have been transformed into the image of an early spring crushed beneath the icy heel of winter resurgent.

"It is for that reason that I merely wish to speak with you today as opposed to instructing you. I have taught you all that you are capable of learning about magic, however, I could still offer advice and I'm pretty handy in a fight, which I'm sure you'll find plenty of in the outside world." As she mentions the outside world a faint smile comes to her lips.

"And I'm sure you would revel in the opportunity to terrorize, sorry, I mean visit the world of the living again."

"You are such a sweet talker Draco; where you get your wily charms I will never know. Yes, after half a millennium sequestered inside of a deserted ruin I would love to have a bit of a holiday from this hell hole." Her eyes go big and she pull off the consummate puppy dog face as she implores, "Don't make me beg Draco."

I'm tempted to demand that she kneel down in front of me, grovel before my feet, and extol my virtues as the epitome of manliness. The entire scenario weaves an extremely pleasing mental tapestry, one that I would love to bring to life and so be able to pull the memory of it out on dreary days to cheer up my weary heart, but I ultimately reject it. The amount of mental anguish that she would inflict upon me in reprisal tips the scales of my mental risk vs. reward barometer into not a chance in hell territory. Once upon a time I would have jumped on it, I wonder if this is a sign of personal growth? Most likely not, even a Muggle will stop touching a hot caldron once his hand is charred enough times.

"Of course you can come! The more the merrier and all that, but have you talked to Borates about this?"

She nods her head. "It was actually him that suggested it. The entire plan you and he have constructed is very impressive, but will be difficult as well. This new Dark Lord will expect you to join his court and I doubt he will take kindly to you slaughtering his followers. You will need to play the part of pure blood scion in public, but you will also need an alter ego that you can use to fight from the shadows." Her eyes alight as she smiles again, "I have the perfect design for your disguise in mind."

I suppress a shudder at the last part, but what she says makes sense. I nod. "All right then, just you, me, and Dobby to take on the Voldemort's inner circle and bring Barty Crouch to justice." Hum…. A wizard, a house elf and an enchanted sword? Sounds like the beginning of a fairy tale, I just hope it has a happy ending, well for me at least, for Barty it will just have an ending.

~All Is Dust~

The newly minted headmaster Severus Snape was bored. He sat in his office listening to the new "Muggle studies" Professor give an over view of the new "Ministry approved curriculum." It was, as was to be expected, nothing but a load of bullocks.

"…And in conclusion, the new Ministry issued material states very clearly that Muggles resemblance to normal wizards and witches is purely coincidental since they aren't even the same species."

Snape sighed, this was getting tedious. Perhaps it was time to interject a little more information of his own creation into the massive load of lies Ms. Robertson was spurting?

Severus leaned forward, placed his elbows upon his desk, and spoke in as grave a voice as he could muster. "Not only that Ms. Robertson, but my research also suggested that, in the not so distant past, they were sexual cannibals, their women would devoured their mates after the act."

The way the old bat's eyes popped was most gratifying.

"Truly Headmaster? Even I have never thought that even disgusting beasts such as them could sink to such levels!"

Snape simply nodded sagely in response.

Lily's voice filled his mind with crystal clear laughter. "_Really Severus? Sexual cannibals? I thought that she would catch on when you informed her that Muggle mating rituals involved excessive chest beating and urinating on everything in the area to mark their territory. I know that is what gorillas do, but what actually EATS its mate?"_

"_That would be a preying mantis Lily."_

"_Any other little tidbits of animal life cycles you're going to throw into the official Ministry propaganda?"_

"_I was thinking about mentioning that Muggles carry their young in a pouch for their first few months of life, but I couldn't decide where to fit it in; maybe I'll tack it on next year with the next teacher after I get this one sacked."_

"_So why exactly ARE you doing this again?"_

"_My own little interpretation of _Reductio ad absurdum _Lily, the Ministry is busy constructing their straw man of Muggle society, I am simply taking their lies and exaggerations to the next level of absurdity where it is apparent that that is exactly what all this is, absurd."_

"_You know Severus, if you had spent more time exercising that devious mind of yours instead of brooding or hanging out with the wrong crowed you could have given the marauders a run for their money in mind games."_

"_You forget there was a reason that Black cast me in the role of Alice and sent me down that rabbit hole to meet Lupin whilst he was reprising his monthly role as the Bandersnatch. I may have convinced the blonde Ravenclaw he was after that he was a poof."_

"_So that's the reason Abigail always looked at him funny after that! That's a little harsh on Remus though, he really is a nice guy, he couldn't help that it was his time of the month. But now that you mention it the similarities to Lewis Carroll's story are rather striking; the hole was under a tree if I recall correctly. Sirius doesn't seem like the type to read a book written for young girls though."_

"_Abigail didn't think so either, at first. How do you think I managed to convince her he was a fairy in the first place? The pretty blue dress I procured in Black's size that I may or may not have claimed belonged to him only added to my case."_

Lily's peals of laughter reverberated inside his head, but Snape simply smiled at Ms. Robinson stated, "Thank you for the briefing on your new teaching material. I'm sure it will be far more accurate than what was taught before and will showcase the Ministry's new, more enlightened approach to Muggle studies, but don't forget to include the extra information that I have told you."

Ms. Robertson smiled, bobbed her head, and shuffled out the door. The dunderhead wouldn't know sarcasm if it impacted her face at extreme velocity. Oddly enough Lily didn't object to his mental diatribe against the bloody woman, although perhaps it wasn't that unusual considering the lady had been stating Lily was subhuman.

Perhaps something that was unusual was that Severus Snape did not think it odd that he was hearing the voice of his estranged, and more importantly, deceased best friend. He had heard Lily's words in his mind since that night two years ago and he knew not the cause of it. Maybe it actually was Lily speaking to him from beyond the grave, but Severus didn't think so, he was fairly certain that he had simply gone insane. He had to say that looking back up at the diving board of sanity that the water was indeed fine at this end of the metaphysical pool. Snape was pretty sure he had discovered the reason for Dumbledore's incessant eye twinkling; lunacy was quite a pleasant experience.

Severus didn't know the truth of it, and he didn't care to. All he knew was that the constant swell of guilt and self-revelation that had threatened to drown him since Lily's death had drained away and left him feeling at peace. He was at peace and had his best friend back with him. As far as Snape was concerned life was good.

"_Severus, the Carrows are coming in next, and I don't think you can pull the same thing with them as you did with that Robinson woman."_

Snape nodded his head in understanding. Lily was right; the next pair would have to be handled with the utmost care. While Ms. Robinson was about as dangerous as a particularly vicious teddy bear, the Carrows were like a pair of rabid wolves, thirsty for blood and foaming at the mouth, wolves that were now locked in close quarters with hundreds of young witches and wizards, the outcome given enough time was not in doubt. Perhaps a more permanent solution was called for with respect to those two? Now that he thought about it, the Acromantula in the forbidden forest hadn't had any visitors in the last few years; perhaps he should send the Carrows to pay their respects?

Severus didn't know why exactly he was the headmaster of Hogwarts; well it probably had something to do with the fact that he had fed both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore information that lead to their final showdown at the Ministry last year. He had done it because it had to happen eventually, and no matter who died at the end of it, they would have deserved it as far as he was concerned. As a reward for his service he been made headmaster this ancient school. Whether he liked it or not that made him responsible for the welfare of every miserable, snot nosed, bedwetting little brat in the castle. Lily had stated that it didn't matter how it came to pass, all that mattered was that it had and now he had to keep them all safe.

Snape narrowed his eyes as the Carrows filed in. Severus had promised Lily that he would protect the brats from Voldemort's Wrath. He would keep them safe, regardless of who had to die for it to be so.

~All Is Dust~

Everyone knew that Voldemort was back. Everyone knew that he and his death eaters had taken over the country and were waging a war of terror against those of Muggle birth. Everyone even knew that there was a resistance that was actively fighting against them. What many people did not know was that the resistance was highly organized, motivated, and had a plan to kill Voldemort; they had just hit a little snag that was all.

Hermione Granger sat huddled over an old dusty volume about the history of the four founders. Similar books were piled in teetering towers around her, forming a wall between her and the outside world. She knew that the work she was doing was not the as glamorous as the raids that Sirius, Ron and Cedric led on Muggle born concentration camps or death eater meetings, but it had to be done regardless.

Hermione blew a wisp of hair out of her face as she turned another page. They had only found two of his Horcruxes so far and according to what Dumbledore told them before he died there were likely five more. Hermione rubbed her temples as she continued to read. They had found the locket in Sirius's house and the ring in the old shack, but they only knew where one of the others was, and the snake was far too well protected to be able to kill easily. On the plus side Hermione was fairly sure she at least knew what two of the others were. If Riddle kept with his pattern of using heirlooms of the founders then the only option for Ravenclaw was a diadem and the only one for Hufflepuff was a cup with her crest on it. The only problem was that the cup had gone missing years ago and the diadem had been lost almost a thousand years before.

Hermione sighed, closed her book, leaned her chair back, and closed her eyes. They were at a dead end. There were no clues on where he had hidden the two Horcruxes that they knew about, and there wasn't enough information on what else he might have used as one to draw a conclusion about that either. It was times like this that made her wish she had taken Victor up on his offer to live with him in Bulgaria. But Hermione Granger would not run. Although she loved Victor dearly this was her fight and Victor understood that.

"Hard at work I see." Came a gruff, yet kind voice from behind her. Hermione turn around just in time to see both Cedric and Sirius walk into the room and hang up their dark hooded cloaks.

"That's right! It's the council meeting today! I completely forgot."

"Hermione, we really appreciate all of the hard work that you put into finding those cursed abominations, but maybe you should get out every now and then? All of this dust and lack of sunlight can't be good for you." Cedric said kindly as he took the seat beside her.

Hermione nodded. She knew he was right; she did work herself too hard. "When is Ron getting here?

"He isn't going to make it. The Death Eaters are having a…. celebration tonight, and Ron's group is going to crash it." Responded Cedric as he took the seat opposite her at the table and glanced around at her books in bemusement. Hermione just nodded. She should have known, it was her that told Terry to pass on the information about the raid to Ron in the first place.

After Dumbledore's death a year ago the old Order of the Phoenix had dissolved and the resistance had been formed in its place. Instead of being under the control of one man, it was formed into cells, each with a leader. Sirius was in charge of one, Cedric another, and Ron the third, and Hermione was over another, although hers focused more on information gathering and research than actual fighting. Each one of them was gifted in something and each led their organization differently, but they all worked together towards a common goal.

"How is the reading going? Looks like you have been doing too damn much of it if you ask me," asked Sirius as he looked at the mountains of books in disgust.

"Not that well unfortunately. There just isn't enough to go on to draw any conclusions."

"You should try a different angle. Perhaps instead of looking up things that could be turned into Horcruxes you should look for information about the blasted things themselves. Maybe there is a spell or something you can use to detect them? You are more than welcome to try the library at my parent's house. There isn't a library in England that contains more information about the dark arts than that godforsaken place."

Hermione could have hit herself. Of course! That was it! The Black library, if there was any information on Horcruxes it would be there.

"Thanks for the advice Sirius; I'll take you up on the offer next chance I get. But I guess it's time to start the meeting."

"Recruitment is up, it's more than enough to make up for the losses we have suffered these last few months," stated Cedric, not wasting any time. Cedric's group went on raids as well, but he focused more on recruitment and training than anything else. When he felt like a recruit had been trained well enough he would pass them off to which ever cell he thought they would work best in. Cedric was also the face of the resistance, mostly because it was a rather attractive face, thought Hermione with a smile.

"Fred, George, and I have finally managed to circumvent the wards around the flue department in the Ministry. We can bring the whole network down for a few hours anytime we need to." Puts in Sirius with a smug smile plastered on his face.

Hermione nodded her head and shuffled through her stake of papers looking for the report she had received that day, finally she found the elusive document and pulled it out. "Here is something that you may find interesting Sirius, my sources in Diagon Ally have reported that for the last two weeks a house elf has been making all of the purchases that would be necessary to renovate a home of a large size, and every one of the orders were delivered to Malfoy Manor."

Sirius simply scratched his head and, with a quizzical look on his face asked, "Why exactly do you think I would care about that?"

"Because the only people with Malfoy blood or those given permission by someone with it are able to enter the wards, and the only living person with Malfoy blood is your cousin Draco."

Comprehension dawned on Sirius's face, "Oh yes, Narcissa's welp! The boy had his parents killed by a death eater when he was eleven if I recall correctly. He went to live with Tonk's family for a bit before he ran away. Tonks was rather fond of him and she still gets a letter from him occasionally."

"Yes and his vaults are perhaps the biggest in wizarding Briton. We need to see if he is sympathetic to our cause; if he is his financial backing could be invaluable."

Sirius nodded, Tonks and Lupin were in his group, so he would pass the information on to her and allow her to make contact.

"Is there anything else that needs discussing?" Inquired Cedric. No one spoke so all of them quickly said their farewells and departed back to their responsibilities. Hermione stretched and began to make her way to her bed. Tomorrow she would take Sirius up on his offer of using the Black library, if there was any information on Horcruxes it would be there.

As Hermione finally stretched out on her bed for the first time in what seemed like forever a smile came to her lips. Finally, after all this time of fruitlessly searching there was another lead. Maybe she would get to avenge Harry after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the paper this is printed on, and since this is not printed on anything… (Unless you printed it out on your own, then… yeah I don't know. Let's say we would both own it fifty/fifty but I'm letting you have it on an indefinite lease free of charge… yeah… that'll work...) but then that only applies to the paper and J.K. Rowling would still own all of the copy rights… so…. I'm just going to shut up now…

Chapter 4

The Delacour family mansion was located a few miles west of Menton, just off the glittering coast of the Mediterranean. The home in its ideal setting was usually a place of peace and serenity, but any casual observation of the interior could discern that that atmosphere of quiet was obviously lacking today.

Gabriel Delacour gazed at his oldest child from across his desk with a look of incredulity. There was no way that he could allow her to do this! He knew that Fleur was more than capable of handling herself; she had been a Triwizard Champion after all, not to mention she had trained with the French Gendarmeries before she decided she wanted to go into politics. The Minister had worried for his daughter's safety when she decided to join law enforcement and rejoiced when she decided to try cleaning up the political world as opposed to the criminal one, although from his own experience Gabriel knew that all too often the similarities between the two were haunting. Fleur's maternal Grandmother had been more than willing to pull a few strings behind the scenes to allow one of her granddaughters to enter into the political arena and had spoken to some of her other sons-in-law and grandchildren and so had helped secured Fleur a position as a French representative to the ICW.

Although Fleur had been introduced to the committee that appointed the representative at her grandmother's urging, it was her own prodigious talent, natural determination, and uncompromising sense of right and wrong that had won her the position. She had since become one of the strongest advocates of universal wizarding rights in the international forum, and also one of Lord Voldemort's most outspoken critics. That criticism was why her father was convinced that her present course of action would get her killed.

The youngest representative to the International Confederation of Wizards in recent memory wore an immaculate blue sun dress over her perfect body and a look of determination on her beautiful face. "It makes the most sense for me to go and you know it papa! I have all of the qualifications that anyone could possibly need to be the ICW ambassador. I am very popular internationally, my English has greatly improved, and I became friends with many of those that now lead the resistance while I was a Triwizard Champion."

"I always knew that you were stubborn, but to insist on this? Fleur, you want to go to a country controlled by a power-hungry prejudiced madman! You may wish to make a difference for those poor Muggle-born people, but when you arrive, that monster will spout grand words about his wish to cooperating with the international community…." Gabriel Delacour then leaned forward in his chair, planted his hands on the surface of his polished mahogany desk, and spoke his next words very carefully and slowly, emphasizing every word, "Then you will simply disappear and never be seen or heard from again. That man, though I don't think he qualifies to be called a man, has murdered hundred or even thousands of his own people just because they were born from Muggle stock. What do you think he will do to you who have a grandmother that isn't human?"

Fleur leaned forward as well, a glint of fire shining in her eyes as she responded. "That is exactly why it should be me who goes! This Voldemort monster may have taken control of England, but his precious purebloods have paid for it with rivers of their own heart's blood! Over the last two wars that that beast has poured out on that country, well over half of the pureblood families in Briton have been driven to extinction, and many of them he has exterminated by his own hand for not supporting him! He can no longer be as selective about who he calls Pure-bloods and Half-bloods or he would be left with only the persecuted without enough of a base left to continue persecuting them!" Fleur's mouth twisted into a humorless smile as she continued, "According to his Ministry's new definition, a Half-blood is someone who has at least one parent and one grandparent who was a wizard and a Pure-blood is someone with both parents and, at a minimum, three grandparents that were of magical decent. What makes me perfect is that Grandmother mated with a Pure-blood when she had mother, and you are from a long line of Pure-bloods on both sides, so technically I'm a Pure-blood as well by his definition.

Voldemort agreed to have an ICW observer come to England as long as that representative was a Pure-blood. By sending me the international community is technically assenting to his requirements, but at the same time is throwing his ridiculous hypocritical standards back in his face!"

"That only makes it more likely he will simply kill you for the insult of sending you as opposed to a purebred wizard or witch!" Gabriel's tone was becoming more and more desperate as he continued to argue with his beloved eldest daughter, there was no doubt in his mind that if he allowed her to do this he would never see her beautiful shining face or her bright smile again and his mind rebelled from it.

"He wouldn't dare do such a thing father! He knows as well as you or I that his opinions on Blood purity are not shared by the majority of wizards around the world, in fact, the only countries I know of that are prominently Pure-blood are the German empires, well besides some in eastern Europe but they are too busy dealing with their own problems to offer England's Dark Lord any succor."

Fleur leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs daintily as a smile spread across her face. "In fact, the Americans are virtually all descendants of Muggle-borns, Muggle-borns that were driven from their homelands because of their "Blood status." I heard from the American ambassador at the last ICW Defense Council meeting that when their public heard of the treatment those with Muggle heritage receive at Voldemort's hands there were riots in the streets demanding the government take action. The American people and government are primed for war. The only reason that they have not acted already is the threat of German intervention, but all they need is an excuse, just one reason, and they will descend on England in a tide of war. Voldemort won't risk a conflict with them or us by killing the daughter of the French Minister of Magic. After the decimation that Voldemort himself has wreaked on the British wizarding population he can't hope to triumph in a war against the combined might of France AND the most highly populated country in the western wizarding world. While I'm in England I'll be safer than if I was here, Voldemort will be sure of it or he will have hell to pay."

"It is not as simple as you try to make it!" Snarled Gabriel as he slammed his fist into the polished wood of his desk. "Even though the Americans and many others are firmly on our side, that doesn't mean it is as cut and dry as you try to make it seem! The Americans may have more wizards and witches than any other country in the world, but if you combine the German and Austrian populations they almost equal them, and both are fiercely Pure-blood. Even in our country there is a very powerful minority that sympathizes with the Dark Lord's aims. England is a powder keg that could ignite the wizarding world in an explosive conflagration of war, and you could be the spark that starts it all!"

Fleur refused to back down either, a flush came to her cheeks that made her appear even lovelier. "And should we do nothing while witches and wizards are being persecuted just across the channel? Should we ignore their suffering and cries for relief because of a fear for what could happen? These depravities are only happening in England right now, but if a strong stand is not taken immediately then who can tell where it will spread to tomorrow? Will we stay here and play our fiddles, justifying our actions by saying that we do nothing because of the greater good, while the world burns around us? No, we must act, and the ICW agrees with me. I have already been appointed to this position, I simply came for your blessing, but I will still go, with or without it."

The French Minister was desperate, so he pulled out his one last desperate hope. "Your Grandmother cannot approve of this Fleur, what does she have to say?"

"It was her idea in the first place papa."

His last resort exhausted, and with great reluctance and sorrow, he finally nodded his head in agreement. "Very well, I see that there is no dissuading you. When will you be leaving?"

"In two days papa." The young French beauty then tossed her long silver blonde hair over her shoulder and flashed her father a shining smile. "Besides, there is another reason that it should be me. Every time I walk down the street in Paris I receive at least two offers of marriage and another half dozen proposals of a more indecent source. I am sure that with a little flirting I could convince someone in his government that there would be no harm in showing me some of his Dark Lord's secrets. I will be careful, I doubt it will come to what you say papa."

The Minister was less than pleased with the thought of men propositioning his daughter, but decided that now was not the time to bring it up. If Fleur came back from this he would talk to the captain of the Gendarmerie about an escort to discouraging such behavior from men around Fleur in the future. "Very well, please stay for dinner, your mother and sister would love to spend some time with you before we say goodbye."

Perhaps forever, Gabriel mentally added with despair.

~All is Dust~

Hermione was stumped. She had searched through what seemed like the entire twisted contents of that corrupted bloody bibliotheca and had only come up with one lead, and it led in a direction that she wasn't sure she wanted to go.

The Black library was a cesspit of dark spells and disturbing rituals, but unfortunately for Hermione Granger, she had yet to find anything specific on the particular brand of villainy she was searching for. After days of searching, Hermione had unearthed only one scrap of knowledge that might help them. The critical piece of information was contained in a tome about the history of the dark arts. It was written in archaic English, which made it somewhat difficult to understand, but it had basically stated something along the lines of "The Dark Lord Konrad was the first to chain his soul to the purpose of his own immortality." Hermione's senses had immediately been set on high alert. If anything explained what Horcruxes were in layman's terms it was that sentence.

If that paper was right, then this Konrad was the one who invented Horcruxes, and if that was so, then if anyone knew a spell or enchantment that would allow the location of one it would have been him, or the ones that ended his reign of terror. The only problem was that Konrad had lived and died in Austria over four hundred years ago, and there wasn't enough information about him in England to draw any useful conclusions.

Hermione was faced with a choice. Either she would have to abandon this line of inquiry, or she would need to grasp ahold of this thread of data and follow it to its source, wherever it may lead.

She already knew what she needed to do, she needed to go to the source and find the answer. The problem was what would happen to the resistance while she was gone? The only reason that they were still alive was because of Hermione. Voldemort was not stupid by any stretch of the imagination, he had already pulled off half a dozen plots that almost destroyed them, they had been foiled, mostly anyways, because Hermione had figures out the plans before they could come to fruition. If she left, she was honestly terrified that the resistance wouldn't be there when she got back.

She trusted Cedric implicitly and Sirius knew when to play and when to work, well, usually anyway. Ron… well Ron was dedicated to the fight and a good strategist but he had a tendency to lead his cell into places where even angels feared to tread. If there was anyone that she was worried would get themselves killed while she was gone, it was Ron. Hermione know that Cho would be able to handle the network while she was gone, but though she was smart, she was nowhere near Voldemort's level of cunning brilliance.

Hermione rubbed her temples as she contemplated her options. She didn't like the comparison of herself to Sherlock and the Tom Riddle to Moriarty, it was Rodger Davis who had started that running joke, but it was true she ended up matching wits with the Dark Lord often. She was scared of what he would do to her friends without her there to guide them, but if they didn't discover a way to find the other Horcruxes then this war would drag on in an endless cycle of attrition that they couldn't hope to win, no matter how many times she outfoxed Tom. The truth was that each time had been a close thing, and all Tom had to do was slip one plan past her and it was all over. It was only a matter of time.

In the end there really was only one option, go, accomplish her goal as fast as she could, and then get back before Riddle slaughtered all of her friends. No pressure at all.

Hermione sighed, picked up a pen and piece of parchment, and began to write a letter to Victor asking him to meet her in Prague. If she was going to go on this quest which could lead her God knows where, then she might as well take her Bulgarian bonbon along with her for comfort.

~All is Dust~

I look at myself in the full-length mirror in the master bedroom of Malfoy Manor. My reflection displeases me greatly. I'm dressed in long flowing black robes of the highest quality, have a top hat perched atop my head, and a cane clasped in my hand. The top hat makes me feel like a fool, the robes are of such a fine weave compared to what I'm accustomed to they make me feel naked, and the cane makes me feel a cripple. My mother's words about important people having to be seen doing things that important people are supposed to be seen doing, comes back to me. "I feel like a pansy." I grumble to myself.

"_Well Draco, if it's any reassurance, you look like a pansy as well."_

I idly twirl my cane in my fingers. The cane is, in reality, Katrina in disguise; she had been more than willing to show me how to enchant a scabbard to disguise her, but was less enthusiastic when she saw her new role as a sword cane, pun intended.

"Yeah Katrina, that really helps me feel better about the whole situation."

"_The situation isn't about you feeling good Draco; it's about making the right first impression to those you meet. In this case the desired impression would be that of a proper Pure-blood of impeccable breeding and training, or in other words, a pansy._

I snort softly to myself as I leave my room and begin to descend to the living room. "Were you this critical of wizards back in your day? I can't imagine that the men found it very appealing."

"_Wizarding culture was different back then, we didn't have the statute of secrecy for one thing. Muggles knew about us and we knew about them, and we slaughtered each other on sight, or at least that was the way of it in Prussia during my youth. Wizards of noble birth would train from birth to be warriors and fully expected to die young and bloody deaths. The only thing they hoped to accomplish was to have children that would remember them, and to prevent the shedding of their loved one's blood by the spilling of their own. Even regular wizards were expected to know how to defend themselves regardless of their profession."_

Hu, if that truly was the way of life during her time, maybe there was a deeper reason to why she always calls me a pretty boy, but still, one thing that she said did raise my incredulity. "Muggles, Really? How could they ever be a threat? I mean, what could they possibly do to a wizard?"

"_You would be surprised Draco, the things you take for granted today that make it to where you don't even have to deal with Muggles, like repelling wards, the flue system, and the like, my generation developed out of desperation to keep from being destroyed by them. You would be horrified if I told you how many wizards died from gunpowder before the bullet ward was invented, I understand that the runes for it are sown into every piece of clothing that wizards purchase nowadays."_

It really is fascinating to hear the stories that Katrina could tell, it's so different from the history that I was told by my father, that of a wizarding society that could raise castles and shatter mountains with flicks of their wands whilst Muggles were still scraping sticks together for a spark.

Finally I make it to the fireplace. I grab a pinch of powder, throw it into the fire and watch as the flames change from a burning red to an emerald hue. I step up to the hearth but hesitate at the edge of the green flames. This would be the first time I have walked on the streets of Diagon Ally since the day I ran away all of those years ago. In fact, this would be the first time I have been in the company of other wizards for over two years, and I had to fool them all.

"_Don't worry too much Draco, just pretend that everyone else you see is beneath your notice and that they should be flogged for daring to breath the same air that enters your noble impeccably pure nostrils and you should do fine. Besides, all you are doing is going to Gringotts and claiming your vaults. It's not like you are attending a state ball where the entirety of the Pure-blood upper crust will be present watching your every move just waiting for you to commit some unforgivable social faux pas. That's next week. So suck it up and be a man."_

Oddly enough, I actually find that reassuring, although the elation in her voice when she mentions a ball nudges my male fight or flight instinct distinctly into the direction of flight. I can only hope she doesn't plan on making me go shopping, but I have a sneaking suspicion I already know the answer to that.

I call out "Diagon ally" and step through the flames.

I am very abruptly reminded that I haven't traveled by flue since I was twelve. The only thing that keeps me from falling on my face are all of the times that Boruta blindfolded me, spun me around a few thousand times and then threw me into a pit, or at a pack ghouls, or once in the direction of a middling sized basilisk, where he got a bloody king of serpents I will never know. But I manage to get out of the fire place with a modicum of dignity.

Diagon alley, what was once both the beating heat and veins through which the wizarding economy of Briton flowed, is now nothing more than a pale shadow of its former self.

Where once there were hundreds of shops with brightly colored awnings and signs painted in vivid hues proclaiming the merchant's wares, now the shop fronts with boarded over windows and tattered notices of foreclosure nailed to their door outnumbered those that still offered their services.

Once throngs of colorfully dressed laughing people had shone brightly through the streets, now only a faint glint of commerce is evident through the smog and corrosions of poverty and neglect.

"_Pick your jaw up off of the floor before someone trips on it. I am as surprised by the conditions here as you are Draco, but now is not the time to stare like a moon eyed fool. The curtain has risen; you must remember your part in this play or you will have far more to fear than the jeering of the audience."_

I begin to walk forward. Every step I take is heralded before me by the reverberating sound of my cane striking the cobblestoned streets. As I walk through the streets, dirt covered young children cower before me, like dogs that have been kick by their masters. I've never considered myself particularly empathetic to the plight of my fellow beings, but the sight of those young emaciated children covered in dirt and shying away from me because I was dressed like those that had abused them, stirs even my hardened heart to compassion, even if only little.

I simply keep my gaze fixed forward and continue walking.

On my right I pass the run down remnant of what used to be Flourish and Blots, the last time I was there my parents were purchasing my books for my first year at Hogwarts and had scolded me for wanting the Harry Potter storybooks. I still haven't read those books, though by this point it's more because of a lack of interest than any loyalty to the wishes of the dead.

Further on and to my right I spot the dilapidated ruins of Zonko's joke shop, I had always wanted to go there but my father had refused saying that it wouldn't due for someone of my status to be spotted in such a disreputable and childish establishment. That a joke shop was an anathema for a family of our standing, yet Knockturn ally, one of the most sordid places in the wizarding world, was a favorite destination was lost on me at the time.

Looking back now through the lens of life experience as opposed to the rose colored glasses of indoctrination it was clear exactly what my father was. He was a hypocrite. He may have been a hypocrite, but he was a filthy rich hypocrite; my family had its redeeming qualities besides my mother I suppose.

The last thought goes through my mind as I stride through the glittering solid gold doors of Gringotts.

"_Well, Diagon alley may have changed since I was here last, but Gringotts is exactly the same as I remember, from the delightful little ditty over the entrance, to the bright shining smiles of the employees eager to cheat you out of every piece of gold and sliver of brass you own."_

I ignore Katrina with the exception of making a mental note to ask about her previous visit to Briton, she had never mentioned that before.

With robes billowing behind me I come to stand before the goblin at the front desk who looks up at me through narrowed eyes. "My name is Draco, of the noble house Malfoy. I have come to claim my family's vault." I declare condescendingly as a look down at the diminutive green banker. It isn't really hard to look down at him, since I'm well over six foot, and he is, well, a goblin and so could stare into Dobby's eyes without either having to elevate their gazes too high.

The goblin simply narrows his eyes even further until they are just red slits, nods, and takes me to his supervisor, who then guides me to his manager, who finally leads me into a back room. That isn't the end unfortunately.

You can give a shark a briefcase and a hat and call him a lawyer all you like, but it's still a shark beneath its outer trappings. In the same way you can put a goblin in a suit and call him a banker, but he is still a vicious, greedy, clever, covetous little scumbag. Luckily for the goblins, and unluckily for their clients, those characteristics allow them to excel at their chosen profession, that of making wizard's lives miserable with fees, paper work, and red tape. I think I go through ten rolls of parchment and used enough of my blood signing them to tide a vampire coven over for a week, but finally the manager looks up from the mountainous pile of documents and nods.

"Everything seems to be in order Mr. Malfoy; here is your key and a statement of your accounts and investments. As you can see your portfolio showed an excellent profit for the first four years or so after your absence, but the returns have slacked off significantly over the last two."

I lean forward in my chair and inquire with all of the arrogance that I can force into my voice, "I noticed that many of the businesses in the alley are no longer in operation. What is the reason for such laziness and lack of production?"

The Manager's face splits open in feral grin. "Unfortunately, due to the…. recent unpleasantness, many of the shop owners were unable to do enough business to pay their mortgage and obligations, and were thus foreclosed upon for lack of payment." As he says the word foreclosure his voice takes on the tone of joy that a human saves for speaking of his firstborn child and his eyes alight with a savage glee.

I merely nod, collect my papers, and leave.

As we exit the opulent lobby and resurface into the squalid surface world I hear Katrina's soft voice resound in my mind.

"_Goblins have always delighted in the suffering of mankind. Centuries ago they would steal human children from their beds just to hear the anguished and despair filled cries of their parents. It was purely secondary to them that they could use those children as slaves for years doing backbreaking labor in their nightmarish subterranean caverns. The same thing applies today. The sadistic joy they gain from inflicting pain on a wizard through taking away that which they love and cherish is the true profit in their eyes, not gold._

"Why would wizards entrust their gold to those sadistic buggers anyways?" I murmur back.

"_It was a compromise of war. In the few hundred years before the establishment of the international statute of secrecy, something I didn't live to see might I add, we were fighting for our lives against the Muggles. We couldn't afford to wage a two, three, or even four front war. So we did all we could to unite all magical beings behind one banner. Some we made deals with, like allowing the goblins to hold our gold hostage in exchange for their good behavior and forging weapons for us, even though we knew the bargains we struck would come back to haunt future generations. With others more…. extreme measures were taken."_

"I'm guessing that it was those extreme measures Boruta was carrying on about when we first met?"

"_Right in one Draco, some of the creatures that ravaged the earth in my time were truly terrible, Boruta's race being chief among them. Boruta and I didn't see eye to eye for the first few hundred years, but centuries of loneliness tend to alter one's perceptions somewhat…. But enough of my history! You now are officially the wealthiest bachelor in Europe! Don't you think it's time we celebrate? I have a feeling that you intend to make the festival a two person affair, so I'll show you how to write an invitation that no one can refuse! And you must be dress appropriately for the occasion as well! I think Dobby must be done fetching my brother's armor by now. If he followed my instructions on restoring it you will look quite intimidating, in a dashing sort of way of course."_

I watch the sun set behind the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant shade of crimson as I stride back towards the flue point. The work of the day was done, and the night was about to set in.

I smile. Katrina was right; I was now one of the richest, if not the richest wizard in Europe, which certainly called for a celebration. Most wizards my age and in my shoes would raise hell to commemorate their good fortune. Not me. For one thing if my mother was alive she would kill me if I did, and for another I have a better idea. What better way is there to commemorate the return of the house of Malfoy than a little vengeance?

I have a rat to catch.

~All is Dust~

It was good to be Peter Pettigrew. When he had betrayed his best friend to the Dark Lord out of fear for his life he had been promised that he would live the good life, and although he had survived as a rodent with the Weaslys for years after his betrayal, the payoff after he had returned his Lord to life was most rewarding. He had a cushy position at the ministry where he simply sat around and did nothing besides harass his attractive secretary. He had a beautiful house on a country estate that the Dark Lord had gifted him for his loyalty with five Hit Wizards on duty at all times to ensure his safety, and the promise that he would have the youngest Greengrass girl's hand in marriage when she graduated Hogwarts. All of those things were nice, but what made Peter feel true contentment with his lot was that he was finally respected, respected and feared.

Respect was what he had always wanted more than anything else. With James and Sirius he was seldom respected and never feared. They had seen him as a sort of pathetic younger brother who they could take under their wing and protect. He had always been taken along by them when they went on their adventures, but he had never truly been a part of them, he was just along for the ride. Now HE was the one that called the shots.

All of these thoughts ran through Peter's mind as he sat in the overstuffed armchair in his study sipping a lavish wine from an expensive goblet reading an invitation to dinner at the Malfoy estate. That was another thing he loved about his position, it allowed him to rub elbows with the rich and powerful, not as a servant, but as a one of them. Perhaps he would take the young Malfoy boy up on his invitation; it never hurt to have more friends in high places and the boy was the richest man in Briton.

Peter put the beautifully rune covered invitation down on his side table and leaned back in his chair. It would be another year and a half till his wedding to Astoria, but he was counting the days. She was already a beautiful girl, and would hopefully become as stunning as her older sister who was to marry Barty in the fall. Lord Greengrass most likely wouldn't have approved of either union, but seeing as how he had "disappeared" because of his lack of loyalty to the Dark Lord, he couldn't protest if that Dark Lord gave his daughters hands to whom he would. Perhaps he could talk to his Lord and ask if perhaps his marriage could be moved forward? Why would Astoria need to finish her education at Hogwarts anyways? It wasn't like he would ever let her leave the house after they were married. Yes, Peter was sure that the Dark Lord would agree with him there, he was the one that had helped him return to life after all.

Peter smiled. Life was indeed good.

Unbeknownst to Pettigrew, on the shadowy lantern lit cobblestone road that twisted and turned its way to his country manor, frost began to form on the road and one by one the lanterns dimmed, flickered, and went out. He didn't realize that a figure wrapped in darkness like a cloak slipped into the guard house at the entrance of his estate and sliced the Hit Wizards on duty to pieces. The only sign of their demise was the splatter of blood spraying over the windows. He didn't even notice anything amiss as a slow tide of hoarfrost and icy mist rolled across his lawn and enveloped two more of his guards, the thick freezing air stifling the death rattles as their lives abruptly and violently ceased.

Ironically enough, it was all of the years that Peter had lived as a rat which left him intrinsically in tune with the movements of the animal world that he sensed first. It was the sudden deafening silence from all animal life as they fled that alerted him that something was amiss. It was the same sort of silence that came over a forest when a pack of wolves began its hunt, the same stillness that descends on the savanna when a pride of lions stalked the night. It was the quiet of the world when an apex predator was on the prowl, and it caused Peter to instinctively grow uneasy. Pettigrew slowly and cautiously stood from his chair and walked over to his window to gaze out over his front lawn. Ice crystals slowly spread across the glass and his breath misted in the air.

Peter was never in the top of his class in anything, but even he knew that frost wasn't supposed to form in the middle of June, during the day or at night. It wouldn't surprise anyone that Pettigrew stayed true to form and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. He hurried over to his glowing fireplace, grabbed a handful of flue powder, and, while tossing it in yelled, "The Ministry!" What was surprising was that when he threw the powder in, nothing happened except for a few green sparks shooting up the chimney.

Had someone disconnected his flue access? When he returned to the Ministry someone's head would roll for this Pettigrew swore to himself. Well, if the flue wasn't working then he would just have to try apparition, it was his least favorite form of magical travel, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Peter pulled out his wand, focused on his destination, and turned on the spot. He almost fell on his face when he felt himself begin to travel but become caught in some kind of anti-apparition ward.

"You can try all you like, but you won't be going anywhere Mr. Pettigrew."

The unexpected voice behind him caused Peter to spin around as fast as he could. There, sitting in his armchair, was the most intimidating figure that he had ever seen. The man was dressed head to toe in a pattern of dragon leather armor he had never seen before, over which he wore a tabard of such a dark red color that it almost appeared to be black. Covering his head was a hooded cowl of the same red color that cast his face in shadow. If Peter had gone to a magical school besides Hogwarts, one where the history of magic class didn't consist entirely of a succession of lectures on the goblin rebellions, he would have known that it was the uniform was that of an ancient order of German warrior mages called the Blutritter. Even without any true knowledge of what the man's guise meant, it was clear to Peter he was deadly, from the lazy confident way the man sat in his chair reading the invitation to his dinner with the Malfoy heir, to the hilt of the sword protruding from over his shoulder. Even the way he idly twirled his wand in his free hand gave off an air of deadly confidence in his abilities.

"The reason that you are entangled in your own rat hole my dear little rodent friend is because of this." The figure held up the invitation and rotated it so Peter could see the intricate web of faintly glowing runes on its surface. "This is both the cheese and spring in my little mouse trap, Pettigrew. The best translation for it in English would be simply "a net of lace." Basically think of it like a spider's web inside a paper, that when opened, anchors to, and is powered off of, the wards already in place. It blocks all forms of magical travel, but its range and power are limited and a powerful wizard or witch could simply blow right through it, but we both know that isn't something that we need to worry about from you, is it Pettigrew?"

Peter always hated fighting since it entailed the risk of him becoming injured, when given the option he would always choose flight, but now he could feel in his gut that he either had to fight or die. He decided to try his favorite combo, a bombardment curse followed by a speedy transformation into a rat and a break for the closest sewer.

Pettigrew leapt into action, but even as the spell left his wand the black clad stranger already had his sword out and on an intercept course. Peter watched in incredulity as his spell was batted back over his shoulder. The wave of concussive force sent out by his curse impacting the wall behind him launched Peter through the air and into the far wall. He could hear the ribs on his right side shatter with the impact and feel the arm holding his wand snap like a twig.

"Who are you?" The squeak in his voice when he forces out the words through the terror and pain chocking him is audible as he watched his assailant stalked casually towards him, his every step filled with a deadly grace and purpose.

"That's an understandable question I suppose, but one I won't bother answering. I think it's far more important you understand the "why" instead of the "who." Although it's a little more complicated to explain, I care far more that you know why I'm here than whom I am. But, if you apply yourself, listen carefully, and put two and two together you may figure it out before the end." Finally the stranger reached where Peter was leaning against the wall, squatted down and leaned forward so that Peter could stare into the empty blackness of his hood.

"Right now you are probably trying to figure out who you were responsible for killing that would make someone want to harm you. I'm sure your mind would then lead you to believe I'm here to avenge Harry Potter's death. You are probably thinking I'm from the resistance, here to claim your head because of your role in bringing about the end of Briton's anointed one. All logical conclusions, but the funny thing is, I'm not from the resistance, and I'm not here about anyone you killed.

I'm actually here because of someone you saved, namely Barty Crouch. You rescued Crouch from the prison of his father's home. If Barty Crouch Sr. were still alive he would be counting his remaining days on one hand for freeing his spawn from Azkaban in the first place, but seeing as how you and his son have already paid him back for that sin, I suppose I'll have to settle with punishing you."

Pettigrew was so overcome with fear that the only sound that could escaped through his quivering lips was a strangled whimper of dread as he ducked his head to hide from the terrible empty gaze of the dark armored and cloaked figure.

"Shhhhh… Pettigrew, shhhhh….." Gently, the figure placed a gloved hand under Peter's chin and raised his gaze to meet his own hooded visage. "I'm not here to kill you. A very wise man once told me that the punishment should fit the crime. You should have been rotting in Azkaban for over a decade by now, but justice, though slow, has come for you at last."

Slowly the dark figure leaned forward until the dark mass of shadows that made up his face was mere inches from Peter's. "Look into my eyes Pettigrew, and see your fate."

Suddenly the temperature of the room plummeted. Cold rolled out in a freezing tide from the figure, making Peter's body go numb as the warmth was leeched from his body, but Pettigrew didn't notice, all he could see were two glowing blue eyes that shone out of the darkness with a savage light.

Slowly, a rising tide of nightmarish horror swept over and penetrated his consciousness, bathing his mind in a limitless swell of terror and despair. The wail of shear horror that ripped its way out of his throat shattered the silence of the night.

Peter Pettigrew was still screaming when his assistant at the Ministry came to find him the next morning.

AN: Well there you go! Draco's alter ego's début! The only problem is I have no idea what I should call him… any suggestions? If I like the idea you come up with I'll credit you in the next chapter! Thanks for reading and please review!


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